


Mirror Mirror

by albawrites



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albawrites/pseuds/albawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scavenging attempt goes awry, causing Krok to see familiar faces but quickly realize how far from home he really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Years of Bad Luck

**Author's Note:**

> CHAPTER: ONE - "Years of Bad Luck"  
> CONTINUITY: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
> RATING: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore. Do expect canon-level of gore throughout this story.  
> SUMMARY: The war is not so over in some places, and Krok's crew is a little different than expected.  
> DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.
> 
> NOTE: This story has been proofread by many people, including my friends Mindy and Ty. Thank you both for all of your feedback; it would not be what it is without either of you. I also want to acknowledge evilcleverdog on tumblr for your brilliant idea for the Shattered Glass variations of the DJD and letting me use your idea. Thank you Owen for your art banner as well. If I've forgotten to thank anyone, please let me know! You deserve recognition.

It's a tough choice to determine whether or not Krok is appreciating the fretting that Fulcrum has going on with him. The attack from the Decepticon Justice Division hasn't been that long ago and the repairs on his face took a little while to be fixed. It isn't perfect, Krok is fully aware of that, but it's improved. He can walk around and his optics function. The battlemask hides most of the actual damage anyway and he can bear everything else. The more he physically expresses, the more painful it is, so he's just careful to try to not to show anything outside of tone of voice. So perhaps Fulcrum's worry is warranted, but it's a tad unusual from another Decepticon.

"Krok, look, I'm just not sure I'm... I'm real keen that, uh," Fulcrum wrings his hands. "Are you sure you're okay to do this?"

"I've been scavenging in worse conditions." Krok exhales slowly, careful to not push his vents too hard.

"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel all the more secure about this."

Krok places a hand to Fulcrum's upper arm. "Listen, I get it. You feel bad about what happened. But you didn't kill Flywheels and you didn't get my face torn off."

There's a small huff from the K-Con's vents. "I sure feel like I set it in motion."

"It was the D.J.D.; I'm not interested in who you were before we found you. Whatever you did is done, and you stuck by us when you didn't have to. There's nothing for me to forgive. Got it?"

There's an uncertain glance from Fulcrum, then eventually he sighs and looks away. "Yeah. All right. Just... be careful?"

"I will be. Let's move out, hm?"

There's one last wary noise from Fulcrum as Krok turns away and begins to head down to the cargo bay with the technician following closely behind. Their find this time could yield some interesting results. It's a fairly humbly sized site, admittedly, and Krok isn't sure what it used to be for. It's Decepticon in origin. That's enough for him.

"Still not sure how I feel about you bunch bringing Grimlock onto our ship," Krok offers up as a different topic, not wanting attention drawn to his injuries.

In response, Fulcrum gives a helpless shrug. "He's kind of just been minding his own business ever since we dragged him along. I don't think Misfire's wrong particularly about bringing him, either."

The cargo bay doors open, and Krok leads the way as they step out. The lab site is located on a desolate moon, out in the middle of no where, which will hopefully give them the opportunity to be able to find some halfway decent material inside. Maybe. The exterior seems hastily assembled, not particularly impressive, which usually means something good might have been left behind.

As the both of them step into the building, they're met with an ordinary hallway with teal walls and rust creeping down from the corners.

Krok comments to Fulcrum, "I'm just a bit twitchy at the thought of having an infamous Decepticon killer on board. Call me paranoid."

"Can't say I blame you," Fulcrum replies with a nervous laugh. "But he's been behaving himself so far. Hell, Misfire's got him playing board games sometimes. Not that he's very good at it."

"Misfire or Grimlock?"

"Doesn't matter," Fulcrum muses.

Krok snorts in amusement, then flinches at the pain that shoots through his face. There's a mumbled apology from the K-Con, but Krok just shakes his head.

The pair of them make it inside to the main room where the remaining three members of their crew have already started to pick away. The abandoned lab's interior is much like its exterior: not overly impressive, but Krok doesn't doubt it has some hidden goods that they could make use of. 

Krok glances over his crew that's present and working. While Spinister's unsurprisingly interested in whatever medical equipment's been left over, Misfire's busied himself with investigating some strangely colored vials. Briefly, Krok considers telling the jet to not ingest any of the contents, but suspects it's probably too late. He sighs, then glances in Crankcase's direction as the mechanic tries to get a computer back online.

"Give him a hand?" Krok directs Fulcrum to the pilot. The technician nods and jogs over to assist Crankcase.

As Krok moves on to check with the others, he hears the pair of them immediately begin to interact.

"Piece of scrap," Crankcase grouses. "We'd be better off just gutting it for parts. The cables are frayed!"

"C'mon, that's the easy way out. We could replace the cables and figure out if the power still even works in this place," Fulcrum points out. "Aren't you curious about what information's stored on these computers?"

Crankcase snorts. "And from the sounds of it, you're already completely invested in what could be on them. Aaaand you're nodding, so that's a yes. You realize the last time we got curious about something left behind we found a Dynobot."

"Hey, just think of it this way: if we found Grimlock last time, maybe we'll find a Phase Sixer now," Fulcrum jokes.

"Yeah, I'm gonna hope not. Help me gets this scrap replaced and I'll find the power source."

Briefly, Krok glances over the tables. They don't have much in the way of equipment, or at least anything that Krok can find immediately useful. Not that he feels he'll be the best judge of that right off the bat, and that's why Crankcase and Fulcrum are present: of anyone in his crew, they're the most technically gifted, and the best pair to tell him what's potentially useful and what's not in regards to what's been left behind. Otherwise, it all looks like senseless objects to him. The only thing that really sticks out immediately is one device left in a corner: there are steps leading up to it, and it basically looks like a giant metal hoop standing vertically.

Huh.

Krok shrugs and turns his attention to Spinister, checking on his medic. "Locate anything worthwhile?"

Turning around, Spinister says enthusiastically, "I found a jar full of eyes!"

Krok just pats Spinister on the arm almost proudly. "That's a good find. Keep looking."

"Yep." Spinister immediately turns his head back to his work, sorting through some boxes that were left behind.

Krok goes on to busy himself with other objects that have been left behind. There are some datapads, but they're cracked, broken, and basically useless, even to them. A shame. He crouches to some of the lower drawers at one of the workstations, giving it a tug. The drawer remains where it is, stubborn and stuck. Figures. Krok gives it a firmer yank and finally it pulls out.

The contents are not what he expects. There are badges in here, more than a few. One red Autobot badge, a few purple Autobot badges, a couple of the typically colored Decepticon ones, and several red Decepticon badges. That's a bit unusual if somewhat forgettable.

"Oh, nice!" Snatching the badge out of the drawer, Misfire holds up a red Decepticon badge. He squints one optic before holding it up to his wing. "What do you think, Krok? Goes with my paint job or what?"

"I think you probably shouldn't change your colors," Krok says flatly.

Across the room, Crankcase snorts and says, "Yeah, you'll just confuse Spinister!"

"Confuse me with what huh?" Spinister perks up, looking successfully confused.

"Yeah, no." Krok gingerly plucks it out of Misfire's fingers. "Back to work."

"Fine, fine." Misfire sighs dramatically before heading back to a crate of beakers and bottles.

There's a pause as Krok glances down at the badge in his hand and he peers at it, as if trying to convince the object to tell him what the hell this is about and if it means anything.

It doesn't really tell him anything.

The lights suddenly flicker on, which tears a panicked snarl from Spinister, nearly causing him to drop a jar from his hands. Krok puts a hand to the medic's arm to try to steady his reaction. 

"There! I'm surprised there's any power left in this place," Crankcase says, dusting off the console that he and Fulcrum have managed to successfully turn on.

"That means there should be a generator somewhere," Krok realizes, "Crankcase, find it. When we're done here, I want it."

"Fine, fine," Crankcase grumbles, marching off to investigate further into the complex.

"Fulcrum, mind trying to figure out what this place was for?"

The K-Classer shrugs. "I'll try. I don't know that it'll do us much good. What are you looking for, Krok?"

"Just getting an uneasy feeling." Krok tosses the badge back into the drawer. "My instincts are usually not that off." 

Misfire sniffs the contents of a large beaker, "Well, no offense, but most of the scientists I've ever met are usually crazy. I knew one that was obsessed with bees and would make nothing but cyberbees all day long. Cyberbees full of viruses, cyberbees with cameras, cyberbees with little mini-missiles, cyberbees just because why not -- that sort of thing."

Krok isn't about to deny that most of them have a habit of being unsettling. He approaches Fulcrum as the technician gets to work typing in commands to the console he and Crankcase managed to get working. As Fulcrum concentrates on the screen, Krok wordlessly puts his hand onto his shoulder.

"This might shock you, but this is one of Shockwave's old sites," Fulcrum points out, sounding stunned. He pauses for a moment, as if he needs to let that fact sink in for himself before he can continue. "Anyway, um. He had some other assistants with him. Astroscope and Spanner. Doesn't look like Shockwave's left behind much in the way of notes. I might be able to pull up something, though."

Krok gives an intriguied grunt. "Try."

"All right." There's a glimmer of excitement and anxiety in Fulcrum's optics. The technician's inherently curious, but getting a chance to touch some of Shockwave's infamous data and projects is undoubtedly both fascinating and worrying to the K-Con. He squints in thought as he continues to work. "Hm. Most of it's encrypted or deleted. All I can really get out of it is that they were working on a way to trace Metrotitans and copy their teleportation ability. Space bridges and the like, but... something else happened and that got Astroscope's attention." There's a look of sincere interest on Fulcrum's face as he continues to investigate the screen and whatever data the console can provide him. There's a mechnical hum in the room; Krok writes it off as the fans running in the main console.

"Well?" Krok prompts Fulcrum.

"Right. Sorry. While they were working, something else happened that wasn't anticipated. Hold on, I'm trying to recover some more details." Fulcrum trails off, working on glancing through notes until he can get a clarified answer.

The lights flicker, catching everyone's attention and Spinister giving a startled, displeased noise. Fulcrum turns to face Krok, about to say something as the humming behind the historian gets louder.

Then Fulcrum looks startled. "Krok!" 

"What?" is all that Krok can say before a blast of pain runs through his body without any explanation. His face feels like it is on fire. Krok can't even manage to make a sound, but the heat rushing through his frame feels strong enough to melt his plating. 

He blacks out. 

It must have been temporary, because by the time he comes to a pounding ache is beating throughout his helm, right down to his processor. The pain spreads into his optics, sending little spikes of discomfort through his body. Maybe Fulcrum was right, maybe he was pushing himself too much and he ended up passing out. He isn't sure, honestly, but he feels like maybe something hit him. 

Sometime during when he'd gone unconscious, his radio link had triggered on. Krok can feel it in his wrist, and he can hear the static-filled voices of his crew.

" _Lost sight of him_." Misfire, sounding a little more serious than usual. Something really off must have happened.

" _Are you fraggin' kiddin' me?_ " Fulcrum, his tone furious.

Spinister's voice chimes in with, " _Well, unless he suddenly developed a sense of humor--_ "

Eventually, they end up bickering over the radio. That in itself isn't unusual, but something feels off about it. Mannerisms in their voices, but it's probably just him thinking too hard about it. Either way, he's glad to hear them. Relief settles in. Krok's arm twitches as he tries to reach for his commlink. It's a struggle, and his voice sputters out barely anything other than static. "Kh-- ah--"

" _Where th' frag are ya?!_ " Fulcrum demands over the radio signal.

Words can't be pronounced. Something garbled it up. Spinister did tell him that the repair done was delicate and he should be careful. Fulcrum was right, he really was pushing it. He can't emit much other than noise. Krok's optics brighten a little and he turns his head slowly and painfully. 

This is definitely not the lab.

The street he's in is a mess. Most of the buildings look demolished or ready to crumble. It's an absolute warzone. It's not unlike the beginning of the war, something Krok remembers it well. Only, it seems worse somehow; there are chasms into the streets, and fire spews forth, as if the planet itself is in fury due to what state it's in. Slowly dusting down from the billowing flames like fresh snowfall are ashes. They land calmly on his plating, collecting slowly in a humble pile. 

The familiar scent of burnt metal and sulfur fills the air along with the heat. As Krok looks around slowly, he recognizes this decimated street. It's one of the roads that belong in Harmonex. The architecture of what remains of the buildings gives that much away to Krok.

If that's true, though, then that means he's on _Cybertron._

How the hell did he end up back here? The only thing that he can fathom is maybe he passed out in the lab. Maybe the crew had to carry him back. Could he have been unconscious for the whole ride back to Cybertron?

It's a stretch of an idea, but Krok isn't sure what else to believe right now.

"You had him in your sights last! Where is he?!" That's a voice he distinctly does not recognize, and it's coming not too far from where he is. There's a noise that comes afterward, like someone hitting metal.

Krok can only groan out a confused sound, struggling as he tries to force himself up. He can hear a few pair of footsteps approach, but he doesn't have the strength to turn his head and look up at who it might be. Eventually, he doesn't have to when a figure stands over him.

The lighting of the fire must be messing with his optical sensors. 

There's a distinct glint of gold plating, well polished and taken care of. Vanity illuminates from this particular individual, which is shocking considering who it is. Krok never knew him very well, but he never took Ambulon as one who cared that much about his appearances. 

Despite his injuries, Krok does his best scowl at the traitor.

Calmly, Ambulon looks down at him with red optics. There's a pause, then he takes out a pistol and levels it to Krok's forehead, making the Decepticon twitch, still unable to move. "If I wasn't completely sure that Optimus Prime would have me killed for it, I'd just finish you off here," Ambulon states, looking mildly annoyed. "But I'm not an idiot." He turns his head and calmly motions for his company to approach his way. "First Aid, over here."

Ambulon's company swiftly approaches. Looming over Krok are two other Autobots. One that he certainly does recognize and only an idiot Decepticon wouldn't: Whirl peers down at him, but seems generally disconnected at the situation, either bored or just resigned despite the clear dent in his head that looks relatively fresh. He looks a bit different than Krok remembers, but reformats and paint job switches happen. Whirl seems to have taken up an appearance with mostly white plating and a few red accents here and there, but it's still _Whirl._

Next to him is a shorter Autobot who Krok assumes is First Aid. He's not terribly intimidating by appearance, but Krok isn't about to judge him immediately by that alone. The Autobot generally has dark gray and black paint with some sharp green along his shoulders and parts of his helm, and his visor glows a vibrant red. His expression is generally hard to read on account of his visor and faceplate, but Krok isn't getting a good gut feeling about him.

All three of them have purple Autobot badges. The color change is noted, but frankly doesn't matter. No matter the color, they're definitely not friendlies. 

"There he is," First Aid murmurs, and Krok immediately connects that his voice is the one that was shouting before. He rests his hand to Whirl's shoulder.

Ambulon gives a wry look to First Aid. "I can't tell if your assassin either did incredibly well or needs to be more thorough."

"No no, this is much better than I hoped for." First Aid gives a soft laugh. "Whirl, pick him up."

Immediately obeying, Whirl grabs Krok by the arms, holding onto him tightly with his claws. To his dismay, Krok finds that he can hardly move, and instead is almost completely limp in Whirl's hold. He gives an irritated grunt and flinches in the Autobot's hold, but he can't do much else.

Leaning in close, First Aid quickly observes Krok. "Your injuries have left you burnt out. Your nerve endings will recover and you'll be able to move. Eventually. But not for quite sometime."

First Aid pauses as Krok's radio link comes to life again. As Spinister's voice comes through, Whirl distinctly stiffens up, his grip tighter. " _Captain! C'mon, please speak up! I was just kidding about the sense of humor thing, haha! But I'm totally serious now, where_ \--"

"Let's just take care of that," First Aid murmurs, placing his hand over the link. Despair starts to sink in as First Aid forces it to shut off, completely cutting Krok off from his only hope of rescue.

Whirl seems to relax somewhat when Spinister's voice stops coming through. Reaching up, First Aid runs his fingers over the dent in Whirl's helm. "You understand why I hit you, don't you? Of course you do," First Aid murmurs. "If you do well, I'll fix it when we head back."

It earns no verbal response from Whirl, but his single optic does flicker.

"You'll want to head back before his crew gets any ideas," Ambulon points out. "I can stay behind and cover you for now."

"You're too kind." First Aid snaps his fingers at Whirl. "Come on. Back to Garrus-2."

Turning off his radio link had sealed the deal that he was trapped, but the order First Aid gives to Whirl only seals his fate. As Krok watches First Aid transform into his vehicle mode and drive off, he realizes that he's stuck. He's been captured by the Autobots, and there will be no rescue. Loyal as his crew is to him, they would never succeed in finding him in time and saving him.

He's on his own, and that does not comfort him.

Whirl suddenly tosses Krok in the air. A sputter of startled static is earned and Krok expects to hit the street, but the Autobot is fast; Whirl leaps into the air and transforms into his distinct helicopter mode, keeping his arms extended in order to snag Krok midair into his claws. It leaves Krok facing down at the ground as they fly up and follow First Aid. On one hand, it gives him a good overview of the battle scarred area. On the other hand, he's definitely far less than thrilled to be held up like this. Krok is just Krok, a monoformer with no ability to transform and save himself.

Suffice it to say, he's trying his best to ignore the slight hint of terror in his mind that he's this high up from the ground in the clutches of a deranged Autobot.

From this angle, he can confirm his suspicions for sure. If there was any bit of doubt that he was on Cybertron, he can tell for certain now. The strangest point to him is that despite the message that they clearly received about the war being over, it's _still_ marching on here. How much time passed while he was unconscious? Are they back to fighting?

He doubts he'll receive many answers from the Autobots, even if he had the strength to ask.

As they continue to fly, Krok can see a large facility that they're approaching. The shape vaguely reminds him of Garrus-1 on Luna 2, so the impression he's taking away from this is that this must be Garrus-2. A large set of walls surrounds the octagonal building, tall and proud as any mountain. There are some distinct cracks and damages, but nothing quite noteworthy that would imply weakness.

As they start to dip down closer, he can see several Autobot soldiers patrolling silently outside. Gradually, Krok is starting to get the impression that this is more of a fortress than it is a prison.

Once again, Whirl throws him in the air. After transforming back to his root mode, he catches Krok by the arms, his grip tight and unyielding just as before, even though there isn't even a bit of a chance of Krok escaping him. Not unlike before, he's too weak to properly lift his head or do much of anything, so his gaze is primarily directed towards the ground. He can look around in his peripheral vision, but no more than that.

Driving up near them, First Aid transforms and falls into step smoothly. Turning on his radio link, he commands with, "Red Alert, get the security doors open and have Perceptor arrange Krok's new quarters."

The single order starts to cause the giant, thick security door in front of them to start to open. It's slow and agonizing, forcing Krok to truly dwell on his situation. The more it opens, the closer Krok is to realizing he's going in there and probably never coming out again. 

" _Perceptor still hasn't returned yet_ ," Krok hears a voice inform First Aid over the radio link. " _For that matter, neither has Atomizer._ "

"Then I guess you'll just have to get Fortress Maximus to do it himself," First Aid replies flatly.

Once the door is finally open, First Aid is the first one to step inside towards the second set of doors. Closely, Whirl follows, and Krok cringes at the sound of the security door shutting and locking behind him, cementing his presence at Garrus-2. The second security door opens a little more quickly in comparison to the first, allowing them to step through much more promptly.

The first thing Krok notices is the distinct and clear sounds of people screaming. Joined with that is muffled laughter, but it's the way the shrieking sounds that makes Krok's plating crawl. He can smell freshly spilled energon bleeding out of someone, a scent that he knows well from both war and scavenging alike. His head is tipped down, and considering the smells and sounds, he isn't sure he even wants to look up anyway. 

First Aid isn't having any of that, it seems.

"Don't be rude, Whirl." First Aid leans closer, murmuring his command, "Show Krok our decor."

The tip of a claw presses under his chin, tipping Krok's gaze up. 

Krok has witnessed several violent things in the war, and thereafter. That doesn't mean he's been dulled to it, and it certainly doesn't mean he's experienced everything. With wide optics, Krok looks on. There's plenty of activity in the courtyard, and he doesn't even know where to start -- not that he wants to, but he takes everything in. Dangling over the walls are corpses, hanging from chains and hooks. They've been there awhile, apparent by the old stains of when fuel had once been bleeding from them. Pikes have been set up along parts of perimeter, more as a decoration than anything else. That much is obvious with the several heads of dead Decepticons that have been speared onto them. 

That alone is enough to make his spark skip a pulse or two, but he can see at the other end of the courtyard where Autobots are laughing to themselves, nudging each other in a friendly manner as they casually work on brutally peeling off the plating of a Decepticon that's been pinned down to the ground, spikes through his hands and feet. The Decepticon is screaming, and he isn't the only one. Not by a long shot, not when Krok can see another one being slowly torn apart by machinary operated by other Autobots. Even if Krok decided to shut off his optics, he would not be able to block out their shrieks from the mutilation they cannot escape from. The entire courtyard is a means of torture and horrific execution, and little else.

A weary, pained vent of air escapes Krok with a troubled groan. He can't express his distress much more than that, but it feels like his spark chamber is practically quaking.

First Aid laughs softly, leaning in to murmur into Krok's auditory sensor: "We decided to make a few more changes to the place since the last time a Decepticon broke out of here. I think it helps with morale, don't you?"

Krok flinches trying to move his head away from First Aid. He fails.

"Take him down. Pharma will set him up. I'll make sure to join you soon after I have a talk with Optimus Prime." First Aid gives a light pat to Whirl's shoulder. "You did well, Whirl."

There's little reaction from Whirl, or at least nothing that Krok can decipher from his position. First Aid departs for now, but it doesn't bring any amount of relief. Not when Krok knows how well trapped he is.

When Whirl moves, he turns to the right and starts to head towards one of the buildings set up in the courtyard. Another pair of doors open for them on cue, allowing Whirl to step inside with Krok in his grip. Here, it's a short hallway but it feels like a long crawl. The walls and ceiling feel cramped to Krok, downright claustrophobic, though the fact that he knows he's caught inside of this prison with a seemingly mute Autobot warrior likely doesn't do much to help with that feeling. Honestly, Krok doesn't know if Whirl talking would help or make things worse at this point.

They approach an elevator. Whirl is quickly elbowing a button to summon and have the doors slide open for them. Even the elevator inside feels too small to Krok. When the doors close after they step into it, it feels like his spark shrivels. Silence hangs in the air as they go down, like a slow fall. Deeper and deeper, and further away from any scrap of hope that Krok had of escaping. He lets out a weary noise. Whirl does not react.

Finally, they hit the bottom and the doors slide open. There's another hallway, just as narrow but far longer. The lightning seems worse down here, and Krok can hear sounds echoing: pained moans and screams and pleas for help from several different voices. It's absolutely haunting.

Not fazed in the slightest, Whirl walks through the hallway. The further they go in, the louder the voices become, and it feels like the sounds crawl all over Krok and dig into him. He can only imagine what the Autobots do to prisoners here considering what he saw in the courtyard.

They come across a fork in the hallway, and Whirl turns to take the leftmost option. Oddly enough, this choice causes them to travel further away from the torturous voices of other prisoners in Garrus-2 crying out in the halls.

Eventually, they stand in front of a pair of thick steel doors. There's a brief tense squeeze from Whirl's claws before he roughly elbows one of them twice, signifying his arrival. Slowly, they part and allow just enough room for both of them to pass through inside into a room.

It looks like this used to be a medibay at one point considering how it's arranged. It's a little more spacious than the hallways have been, though that's a bit of a laughable comparison. There's a single medical slab set up, though it's been arranged inside of a set of thick, strong bars. Medical equipment has been lined up on the wall, as well as some more revised tools. Working on a computer console is another Autobot medic, one that Krok is pretty sure he recognizes.

Then it does occur to him. Another change in a paint job, he assumes. It doesn't really matter, but Krok knows who Pharma is. Only, he's lost his more colorful appearance and most of his plating is colored black with some blue biolights and accents. Additionally, somewhere along the way he's ended up missing a hand, as a good portion of his left arm is a chainsaw. Its weight seems to weigh him down and make him struggle as he moves and types with his right hand.

Pharma looks up with tired optics as he glances between Krok and Whirl for a moment. Then he points to the open cell where the medical slab is. "Go ahead and lock him in place," Pharma instructs cautiously.

There's a tilt of Whirl's head, but the Autobot complies. They turn and Krok is forced to be pinned against the medical slab. Around his wrists and ankles, shackles lock into place, keeping him upright and vertical. After backing out of the cell, Whirl goes to stand beside Pharma. The jet gives Krok a look, then turns his attention back to the console as he punches in a command to lock the cell doors.

"You don't need to wait for First Aid. I can handle this," Pharma informs Whirl, his voice sounding stiff and wary. The only answer that Pharma receives is absolute silence from Whirl, who doesn't even look at Pharma. Sighing, the surgeon starts keying more commands into his computer.

"He'll go when I say he goes," First Aid's voice chimes in.

Pharma flinches before he looks up, watching First Aid approach. "I'm sorry. It's just-- his presence unnerves me."

"I promise, he's completely loyal now." A small laugh escapes First Aid. "We've worked out any potential complications. Haven't we, Whirl?"

Despite the conversation clearly mentioning his name, Whirl doesn't move. He doesn't react.

As if to show his point, First Aid grabs onto one of the fins lined up on Whirl's back and gives it a brutal twist. There's a twitch in Whirl's frame. He doesn't exactly _cower_ before First Aid, but he certainly trembles from the pain of his plating being wrenched in such a way. As much as Krok fears for his own situation, he almost wants to pity Whirl. Almost. Most people regardless of their faction know about Whirl's history with Megatron, so the feeling honestly does not go beyond the inclination. In any case, Krok doesn't enjoy seeing the display.

Pharma's expression doesn't look any calmer then before and instead seems even more uncomfortable. "Right. Of course. I'm sorry for doubting you. I'll get to work on the medical scans."

"Excellent." First Aid sounds quite satisfied. Finally, he releases Whirl and instead starts to approach the cell that Krok is locked in. "Be thorough. I need a full report."

Despite the briefest sensation of sympathy that Krok almost had for Whirl, he's not thrilled to have First Aid's attention. Krok's optics flicker and he squints as equipment power on and lights scan over his body to feed information back to Pharma. 

"I'm getting pinged by Fortress Maximus. Should I put him through?" Pharma offers.

"No. Carry on." First Aid shakes his head. "This is more important."

"Understood." Pharma returns to work.

First Aid narrows his visor as he gets closer to the bars, keeping his gaze fixated on Krok. "I thought you should like to know that Optimus Prime is on his way. He would love to have your execution done public, and available for your team to witness. I know that it'll be Prime who finishes you off, but I know how to kill you in other ways, Krok."

His fingers slide up the bars, almost delicately as his fingers curl around them. First Aid leans in, hissing softly, "It was one of your own that caused you to be here. I want you to think about that as time passes, as minutes tick by and we inch closer to your execution. I want you to--"

"This is impossible!" Pharma blurts out, startled by whatever information he's viewing. When First Aid's head whips around to face Pharma, the jet cringes and holds up his only hand. "I'm sorry for interrupting. It was an accident, but this data... you should. You should really have a look at this. I mean, I'm not ordering you to, I'm just suggesting that maybe you ought to consider looking it over?"

There's a pause of silence that hangs in the air. Krok watches the Autobots, uncertain of what's about to happen next. He doesn't know what to anticipate; this lot is clearly unpredictable, and he doesn't know what First Aid even means by all of that! One of his own, his crew caused him to end up getting captured? Unthinkable. 

First Aid slowly approaches Pharma, which causes the taller Autobot to cringe and brace himself. The tenseness of the moment continues to hang thickly in the air as First Aid's red visor glows fiercely, staring at Pharma. Suddenly, his fist strikes out, hitting Whirl hard enough in the optic to crack it. As Whirl stumbles back into the wall, Pharma flinches and tries to not look over in Whirl's direction.

"I know," First Aid says, his tone a mockery of being soothing. "I'm not upset with you yet, Pharma. Let me have a read?"

"Of... of course," Pharma sputters out, backing away in order to give First Aid as much room as he demands.

There's a moment of silence as First Aid looks over the screen. Eventually, the glow of his visor dims and he looks more curious than angry. Rubbing his chin, he asks Pharma, "And you ran a check on everything prior to scanning?"

"Yes! Yes, I swear. I looked over _everything_ to make sure we were in good shape." Pharma's voice starts to sound increasingly more nervous.

"Shh, shh. Pharma." First Aid grabs onto the other medic's wrist, his grip tight. "I believe you. But it still appears as though our scanners are faulty. Krok is still alive after all, so there's no real reason for him to show up as nothing. So, if you did your job as you say, then we'll just have to check him the old fashioned way."

Pharma's eyes widen. "Oh, but... but I'm sure I could run a scan a second time."

"Now, now. Why not put Ratchet's gift to good use?" Gesturing towards the cell, First Aid tells him, "Go on. I'll even open it for you."

Eventually, Pharma's wrist slides free from First Aid's hold. Stiffly, Pharma shuffles over to the cell. Watching carefully, First Aid types in a command to have the door slide open for Pharma. With a wince, Pharma lifts up his chainsaw arm with the help of his right hand, and he starts to come closer. 

It then occurs to Krok what First Aid meant.

Hissing out distressed static, all Krok can do is struggle pathetically in his bonds as Pharma inches nearer and nearer. Finally, he presses his chainsaw flush against Krok's chest plating. The look Pharma gives Krok is one of fear and guilt, a strange expression that Krok wouldn't have anticipated from any Autobot in this place.

Pharma whispers, "I'm sorry." It's barely audible.

The chainsaw roars to life and cuts into Krok. Before, all he could do was give bursts of white noise, but it seems as though pain is a great motivator. Krok lets out a scream, his optics widening as he watches the chainsaw rip into his torso. Energon spills and bleeds out, noisily dripping to the floor. It doesn't go far enough in to kill Krok, but enough to go past armor.

In horror, Krok watches as Pharma carefully guides the chainsaw down to continue to rip into him. From collar to hip, Krok's abdomen is cut open in one of the least efficient ways, and all he can do is howl out from the pain shrieking through his body.

When it's done, the chainsaw shuts off and pulls away. Krok feels his body go limp and his senses dull, but he can feel air touching his now exposed gaping wound. Something presses into the gap, and something that sounds like a crank starts to force his chest to open, peeling plating back violently. Krok can only groan before his voice trails off into nothing. 

"I... I have no idea what this is," Pharma stammers out. "I think this is keeping him alive."

"Hmm." Krok can hear footsteps as First Aid approaches. A finger presses under Krok's chin, forcing his head up so that his tired optics look into First Aid's visor. It'd be easy to shut off his eyes and cut off the gaze, but Krok remains as defiant as he can afford to be right now. 

First Aid turns his attention down to his chest, then gently taps on Krok's spark casing. It makes Krok jerk and hiss, but words refuse to come out. He tries to form them, but he lacks even more strength now.

"I've never seen an ember like this before," First Aid mumbles, sounding intriguied. 

_Ember?_ Krok's eyes flicker in confusion, but ultimately he decides it doesn't matter or change things right now. 

First Aid continues, "This requires more study. I'll have to see if I can postpone Krok's execution."

There's a strangled, gargling noise coming out of Krok as he feels First Aid's hands groping around inside his chest, exploring it. He can't say a word, he can't even struggle, and First Aid is absolutely invested on his insides. A tremor passes through his frame as skilled hands work in and map him out.

Briefly, Krok is distracted by a creaking noise. What in the hell--?

There's something bursting out of the veiling vent and slamming into the floor. At the sound, First Aid pulls his hands roughly out from Krok's chest, earning a pained groan in return. Tiredly, Krok glances over what's suddenly in the room with them, and his eyes widen. No, this isn't good.

Standing ready on their feet are two very familiar individuals with all of the wrong color schemes. Krok knows them so thoroughly that even silhouettes are enough for him, so the color palette change really doesn't mean anything to him. He can ignore that Misfire is mostly dark green with bright blue optics, though he wonders when the hell he decided to place a targeting visor over his right optic because that sure isn't going to help with the aim. Somewhere, sometime, Crankcase has gotten the head fixed; there is no gaping wound, and now the colors the mechanic sports are purple and pink shades, bright and cheery.

Really, it doesn't mean anything because now Krok is terrified for them. On one hand, he's impressed they snuck in, but now they're just going to die with him. He has no real illusions of them escaping, and he wishes they weren't so blasted loyal to try to get him. It only means they'll suffer with him.

"Get the hell away from 'im!" Crankcase snaps, cradling a shotgun at the ready. 

First Aid ducks his helm and dashes out of the way, scrambling to get out. While the Autobot makes a break for it, Misfire is moving smoothly towards Krok. It bewilders Krok to see First Aid reacting with such fear in regards to his crew, but he won't complain.

Cursing loudly, Crankcase fires at First Aid and misses when the Autobot ducks; the shot ends up hitting only the wall while First Aid makes his escape. "Smeltin' son of a glitch--"

Looking almost lost, Whirl stares after First Aid before stumbling after him. "Whirl, wait!" Crankcase cries out after him. The engineer starts to go after the Autobot, but Misfire catches Crankcase by the shoulder and shakes his head. "But... Misfire, are you sure?" Crankcase asks, frowning.

Krok must be out of sorts. Crankcase is asking for advice from _Misfire_. Maybe he's dying. Maybe he's already dead.

"No. We're here for the captain. Much as I would like to see him put down," Misfire responds, his voice cold and detached. Not very like Misfire at all. "Your message was appreciated, Pharma. As well as the location of an entrance we could utilize."

Pharma. Krok slowly concludes what's going on here. Pharma had reached out to his crew somehow to get them in so he can get out. True, maybe Pharma seemed reluctant to be involved in what was going on, but it still surprises him that an Autobot would assist. It's inherently suspicious to him. After all, what does Pharma have to gain from that action?

Krok tries to speak, but white noise hisses out instead. Noticing, Misfire calmly places a hand to his shoulder. "We're getting you out," Misfire tells him. The tone doesn't convey comfort, but he sounds confident enough to state his words as fact.

"I... I can show you the way. I just--" Pharma looks at Crankcase nervously. "Are you sure that the cameras have been scrambled?"

"You ain't got a thing to worry about, Doc. All taken care of by yours truly!" Crankcase smiles reassuringly. Smiles! "Help me get Krok loose, if y'could?"

"Right. I suppose we don't have time to burn." Quickly, Pharma circles around to the main console to assist Crankcase. "Let me just input the code-- _there!_ "

The shackles holding up Krok suddenly release him. The war historian would have quickly met with the floor painfully if Misfire hadn't been ready to catch him. Gently as possible, Misfire rearranges him so that Krok is draped over his back so that he can at least reach his firearms. That alone greatly concerns Krok. He gives a distressed groan, peering down warily at the pistol in Misfire's hand.

Misfire doesn't even seem to notice.

"Pharma, lead the way," Misfire calls out for the doctor.

At the instruction, Pharma gestures for them, hoisting his chainsaw arm against his own shoulder so it's out of the way as they run. "There's a sewer drainage area that would be the easiest method of escape. It's..." Pharma looks uncomfortable and disgusted. "It's where we end up throwing away a lot of bodies and the energon bled from soldiers."

As they exit the room, Crankcase increases his walking pace to catch up to Pharma. "You're still welcome to come with us, y'know. Fulcrum might pitch a fit, but--"

"No." Pharma looks terrified at the suggestion. "You can't promise I'd be safe. None of you can, and you know it."

Crankcase's optics narrow a little, making him look sullen. It doesn't seem like he has much of a retort for that.

The hallway is familiar all over again, only this time they head down the corridor where the sounds of tortured prisoners moan their distress. Although Krok is jostled painfully by how fast they're running, he doesn't blame them. They don't want to waste anymore time being here and he's definitely on board with that plan.

They stop midway through the hallway, blocked off by a large set of shut and locked doors.

"Smelting son of a--" Crankcase starts to curse.

"I can unlock it! Just give me some time." Pharma pops open a control panel next to the thick doors, immediately getting to work.

"Time is something we're very limited on," Misfire reminds him coldly. "Make it quick."

The doctor focuses as best as he can, punching in the codes necessary to unlock the set of doors. Slowly, the doors start to crank open, but Krok can tell that it won't be fast enough. Despite his own physical weakness, Krok feels his fuel pump constrict and increase its rhythm anxiously.

He can hear footsteps approaching. He doubts it's friendly.

Wordlessly, Misfire turns and raises his pistol, preparing to take fire. That alone makes Krok definitely sure that this will end badly. Strangely, Crankcase doesn't seem worried, and instead the mechanic is making sure to prepare fire as well.

"Heads up, Doc," Crankcase warns.

"I know, I know!" Pharma cringes. He glances at Crankcase, then says, "Point your gun at me, do it now!"

Hesitantly, Crankcase levels his shotgun towards Pharma, just barely resting his finger on the trigger. Still, the way he stands doesn't give Krok the impression that Crankcase has any real intention of shooting Pharma. From what Krok can surmise, Pharma is trying to protect himself and come off as if he was threatened to assist them. Which, strangely enough, doesn't seem to be the case.

As soon as an Autobot comes around the corner, Misfire immediately starts firing. While Krok had been prepared for the worst, what happens next is completely unexpected: the two shots he takes go between the optics of the Autobot, shooting cleanly through his head. The soldier's body collapses to the floor. 

That's just absolutely insane. Did Misfire _accidently_ hit his mark that time? It must have been a lucky shot! But Misfire doesn't seem surprised by his own aim in the least. When did he improve?

There's a pause from Misfire, then he shoots the Autobot one more time. "Never too sure," he mutters, mostly to himself before turning his head to speak to Crankcase and Pharma. "There will be more, and that won't be something we can manage in a small hallway like this."

"It won't go any faster," Pharma says, defeated. "This might be enough for us to squeeze through."

"You'll go last," Misfire tells him, walking quickly up to the painfully slow doors that are still gradually opening. He pauses, exercising caution in regards to Krok's well-being and how to arrange him as they pass through the tight passage. The way he's held is closer to a protective embrace as they shuffle between the doors.

Once they're through, he motions for Crankcase. "You're next. Come on."

"Comin'! I hear more 'bots runnin' our way, too," Crankcase warns as he starts to work his way through now.

Misfire frowns a little more, raising his pistol in preparation. Between the doors, Krok can see Crankcase trying to hurry as best as he can while Pharma looks frantic and tries to follow.

But Crankcase is right. They're out of time. Krok watches in dread as more soldiers come around the corner, lifting up their guns and prepared to fire. Pharma whirls around to face them, then raises his only hand.

"Wait--!" Pharma calls out, but he's painfully ignored. 

The Autobots don't wait. They start firing, and the first thing to go is how Pharma's hand is torn to shreds by ammo. He doesn't scream, most likely out of shock as he collapses to the floor. Not dead, but injured.

"Crankcase!" Misfire snaps, starting to shoot over the other Decepticon in order to get at the Autobots.

"But what about--" Crankcase starts.

" _Now!_ "

Closing his mouth tightly, Crankcase makes it the rest of the way through the doors, looking a bit distressed at leaving Pharma behind to the Autobots. Once Crankcase is through, Misfire nudges him to follow before they take off down the rest of the hall. Over Misfire's shoulder, Krok can observe that the Autobots are starting to squeeze through the doors as well, undoubtedly planning on following them.

Whatever happened to Pharma, Krok isn't sure if he's alive or not. It's impossible to tell from his angle.

"There's supposed to be a sewage passage of some kind. That'll take us out back," Crankcase advises, sounding a little sullen. Why the hell he'd be upset about an Autobot, Krok isn't sure.

Misfire nods as they continue down, raising a wrist to his mouth. "Spinister, bring the ship around to the designated exit. You should see sewage coming out somewhere. That's where we'll be."

Spinister, sounding unusually very energetic and chipper, responds with, " _Yes sir you got it sir! On my way! Man oh man, by the way, I'm really not as good at piloting this as Crankcase, so I'm reeeeeally sorry about all the scratches._ "

"Ain't nothin' I can't buff out, Spin," Crankcase promises, looking a little more complacent. "See you in a bit."

They finally make it down to what seems to be a cell block. Dead or dying Decepticons are locked in their own cramped cells, and it earns a familiar twinge of pity from Krok. If he could speak, he'd want to see about freeing them or putting them out of their misery, but with the regretful look Crankcase wears it implies that they don't have time for either.

Misfire stops in front of a grate, tapping his foot on top of it. "It's here."

"I got it," Crankcase mumbles, crouching down and placing his fingers into the gaps of the cover.

As soon as Crankcase successfully pries it open, there's a strong familiar smell wafting up from below. The scent of spilled, old energon bled from a body. 

"Go down," Misfire orders Crankcase.

With one nod, Crankcase hops down below. It's dark and Krok can't see just yet what exactly is down there, but he hears a splash when Crankcase lands. Misfire carefully adjusts his hold on Krok, following Crankcase down below. Just as they land, Crankcase lifts up an electronic torch, bringing light to where exactly they are.

They weren't wrong to call it a sewer. The waste products down here seem to primarily be the remains of energon. Down here, this is probably where the Autobots drain their prisoners. Essentially, they're disposing blood into these tunnels. Instinctively, Krok would almost call it a waste, but maybe that's the point. Maybe the Autobots don't even consider their energon worth keeping.

Crankcase pulls the grate cover down, taking a minute to weld it shut. "Ain't much, but hopefully it'll slow 'em down," he murmurs. "All right, so we just go down this way, right?"

"If Pharma was being honest." Misfire starts to make his way down the tunnel, liquid sloshing noisily around his ankles. His body language seems more stiff, as if he's actually disgusted to be down here. 

Crankcase sighs quietly, following close. "I really wish we didn't ditch 'im, Misfire."

"He's an Autobot," Misfire says distantly.

"That don't make him all bad. Just kinda bad."

Misfire peers at Crankcase. "Do you want to tell Fulcrum that?"

"I-- no." Crankcase shrugs helplessly. "Sorry."

"Your ember is in the right place." There's a pause, as if Misfire is struggling to find the right words to say. Something very uncharacteristic of him. That, and the word comes up again -- _ember._ "But we did come for Krok. And just Krok. Remember that."

"I know," Crankcase says, placing a hand on Misfire's arm. "Thanks for hearin' me out a bit. I know what we're here to do."

"Mm." Misfire nods once.

Dim light comes into view the further they go down the tunnel. As they get closer and Crankcase holds out his torch, it becomes clear that it's another grate, but it's on the wall this time. From what little Krok can see from his angle, it seems to lead outside.

A relieved sigh comes from Crankcase, and Krok feels similarly. Maybe they really will make it out of here. The dismal acceptance of his fate from not that long ago seems to have turned around, and even if Krok could speak he honestly wouldn't know what to say. While he was grateful to have his teammates come rescue him, it just didn't seem plausible that they would manage it.

Yet, here they are.

"No time to relax yet," Misfire reminds. "We're still being followed."

"Right." Crankcase grunts as he kicks the grate. It bends the first time, but is successfully kicked off the second round. 

Once the grate is gone, there's a clearer view of the outside. From the way they're positioned, Krok thinks that maybe they're at the back of the facility, but he isn't entirely sure. It definitely isn't the front gate, that much he can tell. Not far from where they're standing, he can hear the all too familiar sounds of battle and orders being shouted. In any case, they're still trapped, the wall around the facility blockading them from any exit.

Looking down over where the grate was, Krok can also see that it's a long way down. They'd survive the fall, but not without some injuries. Jumping is not the preferred plan here, clearly.

Misfire peers up at the sky, frowning. Lifting his wrist up, he asks, "Spinister?"

" _I don't think that I can make it! There's too much shooting, you know? I can't bring the ship!_ " Spinister answers frantically.

"I understand." Misfire lets out a hiss of frustration. "If I fly over the wall, I'll be too slow to dodge anything. And I can't leave Crankcase behind."

In the tunnel behind them, Krok can hear stomping feet and the distinct splash of liquid as soldiers are undoubtedly charging them from behind. He twitches, static bursting from his vents as he tries to grip Misfire's arm.

"I know." Misfire cringes before he's letting out another command, "Fulcrum! Come into my position. Spinister, draw their attention with the ship if you have to. Crankcase? Hold onto me." Misfire holds out a free arm, putting it around Crankcase's shoulders. Quickly, Crankcase loops his bulkier arm around Misfire's waist.

Tilting all of their weight forward, Misfire grunts and fires up his thrusters on his feet and back alike. It's barely enough to level them out and soften their landing to the ground below, but it's one step closer to possibly escaping. 

But they're still distinctly trapped. Krok is too cumbersome for Misfire to fly especially well, and as he mentioned he isn't about to leave Crankcase. Looking up, Krok can see soldiers coming closer to the edge of the sewer. If they stay here, they'll be perfect targets to be shot at.

Immediately, Crankcase brings up his shotgun, shooting relentlessly as Misfire takes a few more precise shots. They don't remain still fortunately, but they aren't making it to cover fast enough. 

Crankcase ducks behind a pile of crates, and Misfire goes to follow and misjudges how slowly he moves. A shot clips his helm, causing his head to jerk and for them to stumble into the ground, Krok thrown from his arms.

"Misfire! Captain!" Crankcase shouts, about to rise from his position. 

This is it. Maybe it was wrong to become hopeful at the end. They were close, so _close_ to escaping. Krok lets out a ragged vent of air as he watches the Autobots take their aim at them. Even if Crankcase rises to protect them, it'll be pointless. They'll die or worse: be recaptured.

There's a shriek in the air, the noise directly coming from an enormous missile flying overhead. It seems to be targetted at the cluster of the Autobots that are either taking aim or starting to climb down and make their way towards them. Krok stares a bit helplessly; if a missile that size goes off, it'll kill the Autobots but take Krok, Misfire, and Crankcase with it with nothing left but molten scrap.

But the missile transforms and lands on top of one of the Autobots with enough force to cause plating to crunch. The other Autobot soldiers immediately look like they're actually having second thoughts about approaching with at least one of them starting to slowly back off from the new arrival. Standing upright from tackling the soldier earlier and rolling his shoulders back is to his shock--

"Fulcrum!" Crankcase calls out, looking relieved.

Most of Fulcrum's plating color-wise is unchanged, still a bronze hue, but there are some various blue stripes running down his back. For the most part, he's recognizible, especially with that impressive chin, and he even looks like he's still K-Class, just some minor differences. Little wings stick out from upper arms and his back alike, no doubt due to his missile alt-mode. He's bulkier instead of the lanky K-Con he remembers, but Krok does recognize him.

Fulcrum cracks an incredibly smarmy grin, shrugging his shoulders as plating slides open on his arms. Tiny rockets launch from him, exploding into the Autobots right behind him. Not all of them have been successfully blown up, though, and that becomes apparent as a pair of soldiers attempt to take on Fulcrum from behind.

Two shots are fired, precisely shooting the pair of Autobots in the head. Krok glances out of the corner of his optics, seeing that Misfire has recooperated enough to have been able to defend his teammate, but barely. Fresh energon runs down the side of his head where he'd been clipped. 

"You're still too careless," Misfire mutters, touching his injury gingerly with his fingertips.

"I'm still walkin', ain't I?" Fulcrum says with a snort as he approaches. Rolling his shoulders back reveals a slot opening itself along his upper left arm. A rocket shoots out, impacting the sewer exit that they utilized before. 

"They'll have heard that," Misfire says with a sigh.

Fulcrum chuckles lowly. "Let 'em." After glancing over his shoulder, there's a pleased, low chuckle from the fiery mess, as if he's getting a kick out of it before he comes closer and crouches down to look at Krok. The war historian can only gaze back up with a wide, unsure gaze. 

It seems to make Fulcrum bark with laughter before he remarks in a gruff voice, "You look surprised, darlin'."

"How bad is it out front?" Crankcase asks, coming out of cover to help Krok up into a sitting position.

"Not as fun since I left it." Fulcrum shrugs. "Deadlock and Spinister are baiting, but I'm pretty sure that the Autobots know what the hell is going on here. They'll be floodin' out this way soon."

That makes Krok's head spin worse than the injuries on his person. Deadlock. Deadlock is out there, fighting? The way Fulcrum says it makes it seem like that Deadlock is _helping_ them, but why would that traitor ever come assist them? 

For the last time, what the hell is going on here?

Misfire stands up, shaking his head and ignoring the injury on his head. "Then we need to move."

"Wow, why didn't I think of that?" Fulcrum says flatly. "All right. I'll make us an exit. Give me some room."

The way Fulcrum walks isn't with caution. The way Krok remembers him, he'd always step around as if he was certain that if he walked wrong something would blow up in his face. Here and now? Fulcrum is practically stomping with confidence, making his way to the wall as he starts removing explosives from his arms and planting them onto the wall.

"We'll need to place a few more on the other side," Misfire points out. "The wall is too thick for that to go all the way through."

"Well then, darlin'. You just leave that to me." A mock salute is given to Misfire before Fulcrum crouches and leaps. Quickly, he transforms back into his missile alt-mode, taking off into the air without any fear.

Misfire gives himself a moment to rub the bridge of his nose before he shakes his head. As he crouches down and gingerly picks up Krok into his arms again, Crankcase approaches from behind.

"You okay with that?" he asks, gesturing to his head.

"It'll be fine. More of a distraction than an injury," Misfire assures.

The moment gives Krok a chance to reflect on this situation. So far, it seems that the rescue has been, amazingly, successful. He still aches, and he knows that his chest is still cracked open, his injuries overwhelming for even most medics. Spinister is a good surgeon, but he knows with their limited supplies that it'll be too much for him. In any case, that's ironically his biggest worry. His main concern are all of the startingly different personalities his crew is suddenly portraying. Crankcase being incredibly cheerful and positive, somehow Misfire is taking the situation seriously, Spinister sounds jovial to the point that Krok isn't even sure it's sincere, and Fulcrum is so _eager_ for a fight. What could have changed his team so drastically?

If they do manage to escape, he'll learn soon enough. All he can really do is speculate. 

His thoughts are interrupted by Fulcrum's voice warning them from their shared radio links: " _All right. Keep your distance. I'm gonna activate these bad boys._ "

Warily, Misfire takes the advice with Crankcase. They step away from the explosives attached to the wall.

"We're clear," Misfire replies.

" _Countdown. Three, two, and one._ "

A fiery explosion rips through the air in front of them, spewing out debris and flames. Shifting his weight, Misfire moves just enough to shield Krok just in case, but fortunately the worst they all receive are a few angry pebbles bouncing off of their plating. A hastily made tunnel via bombs is now before them, with Fulcrum standing at the other end of the hole. Clutched between two fingers is a cy-gar, and Fulcrum is exhaling smoke from his vents.

"Ta-dah," the K-Con says, gesturing to the smoldering exit.

Misfire takes off through the hole in the thick, protective wall, cautious about where he steps. Activating his radio link, he begins to send out competent commands: "Spinister, bring in the ship. Fulcrum, hold off the Autobots as much as you can. Everyone else, retreat immediately."

"Now _that_ sounds like hell of a time!" Fulcrum grins broadly. "Let's make it fun, darlin'." 

Just as Misfire and Crankcase make it out to the other side, Fulcrum is already turning around and facing the battlefield. Here, Krok is able to take a proper look at it as well from the front. 

The familiar smells and sounds of weapons firing and soldiers bleeding fill the air. For a small team, somehow they've done incredibly well. Knowing that it's _his_ crew? It's so impressive that Krok isn't even sure that these are the same people. They're all various degrees of clever, but they've never been powerhouses. Not by a long shot. So, to see Fulcrum laughing and taking into the fight recklessly is a foreign thing indeed.

Speeding up to them is a red vehicle with white accents; it transforms, revealing a familiar frame: Deadlock. True to the implications, he wears a Decepticon brand again and he wears various cuts and scorch marks from the fight he's been in. Maybe that's it, that his team was so desperate for help that they accepted Deadlock into their ranks once more? It's an act of treason, but that's not surprising. They do make a habit of using their resources.

"Ahh, there he is! No need to crack up on us, Krok." Deadlock grins and points at his own chest. "But no, seriously, you've looked better. I'm guessing the Autobots didn't quite give you the make-over you were expecting!"

"Not now," Misfire interrupts him.

Lowering from the sky is a sight for sore eyes. The W.A.P. looks familiar, but more sleek and properly equipped. Hell, it even looks downright new in comparison to when he'd seen it last, but it seems smaller than Krok remembers it being. 

A platform lowers from the ship, and Krok can see Spinister waiting inside. Most of his plating has been changed around in colors as well, most of him in shades of red. Specifically, his chevron is actually a golden color, making him stand out in a very different way as he lacks his traditional Decepticon paint job. 

Quickly, they board onto the platform. Deadlock lets out a loud whistle and shouts, "Hey! 'Splosion Man! Time to bail!"

Fulcrum does pause in his solo attempt to defend them, his arms dripping with spilled fuel that Krok hopes isn't his. Then he crouches and exposes his back, revealing an arsenal of tiny missiles and bombs just before he launches them at the Autobots. Just as he turns away from the following explosions behind him, he flicks away his cy-gar and transforms, flying into the ship.

"That's everyone!" Spinister says, sounding relieved. "Misfire, I can take him."

Gently, Misfire passes Krok into Spinister's arms; behind both of them, Crankcase is dashing away to the bridge where Krok can see him taking the pilot's seat.

They made it. They really made it. It's unbelievable, but Krok is really going to have to commend them for this when he's able to actually speak and move.

"Man they really did a number on you," Spinister says quietly as he marches down the hallway. "We're gonna need fresh energon for him."

"I'll take care of it," Misfire says, slipping away.

As they walk, it occurs to Krok that the interior of this ship really is a little smaller than the W.A.P. It's more narrow, far less rooms. It's more like a transport vehicle than a ship that they can actually live on. Which is definitely odd; how do they expect to travel long distance? In any case, Krok shakes off the thought. That isn't important just yet. 

Spinister pulls out a sliding medical slab from the wall, carefully placing Krok onto it. As Spinister starts to examine him, Krok can see Fulcrum impatiently pacing while Deadlock is leaning against the wall close to the K-Classer. 

The surgeon peers in close, looking confused at Krok's sliced open chest before he tilts his head.

"Something's wrong with your ember," Spinister murmurs to himself without explaining what an ember even _is._ "Well, that besides a number of other things. Oh, but that doesn't mean that we can't fix you! I'm, uh, just saying. This is pretty strange."

"What's it mean, Spin?" Fulcrum growls.

Spinister shrugs and waves his hand a little in a non-committal way. "Ehhh? I really don't know."

Misfire comes back into view, holding out a tall glass of energon to Spinister. "So what can be done?"

"Well..." Spinister gently helps Krok sit up, tilting the glass so he can start refueling. The taste is crisp, and it flows down his intake smoothly. This is high quality, and Krok is almost downright suspicious about how they got their hands on something so _good_ , but for now he just focuses on refueling. "I can give him a basic patch job, but that's seriously it. This ship isn't exactly equipped with a super awesome medibay, you know! Plus, I can't really investigate what's going on with his ember and figure out what the smelt happened to him."

"We don't have time to take him back to the main base," Misfire says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

Spinister coughs awkwardly. "You're not gonna like my suggestion, but hey! Here's a thought: why don't we call up Tarn and the others and see if we can use their facility?"

_What?!_ The sheer thought of being anywhere close to Tarn and the others makes Krok choke and sputter out energon. Alarmed, Spinister pulls the glass away and softly pats his back. "Okay, I know you don't like them much, Captain, but we don't have much choice," Spinister tells him.

"The answer is a big _no_ ," Fulcrum snaps, turning his head and spitting. "We can take care of ourselves. We have for ages!"

"That isn't up to you, Fulcrum." Misfire folds his arms. "Although I know the captain's never favored them terribly, but this is his life at stake. We may not have time to reach Megatron and have their medical station prepared."

"I want nothin' to do with the DJD! They've done enough!" Fulcrum snarls. "Bunch of--"

"Do you want Krok repaired or not?" Misfire asks coldly.

That makes Fulcrum pause, then he looks away sharply. "Yeah. Yeah, of course I do!"

"Then this is what we'll need to do. I'll have Crankcase take us to the Decepticon Justice Division." At the news, Krok gives a distressed noise. Why? Why are they choosing this? They just saved him, and now they want to go back into _danger?_ Misfire ignores him, continuing, "In addition, I'll attempt to reach out to Megatron and see if he can send Starscream our way. We could use all the scientific help that we can get."

No, no, no. This can't be happening. Why are they choosing this? Krok feels his head spinning, and his vents wheeze anxiously. He twitches, trying to struggle, trying to speak.

"Captain, easy. Easy!" Spinister attempts to steady him. "Krok, careful! You have to be careful!"

Krok lets out a groan, his head pounding. He tries to will words to life, to have them emit clearly, to beg them to not take him anywhere near the DJD. The threat of it almost physically pains him! He hisses, feeling his frame tremble.

He loses consciousness.


	2. Time to Reflect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scavenging attempt goes awry, causing Krok to see familiar faces but quickly realize how far from home he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER: TWO - "Time to Reflect"  
> CONTINUITY: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
> RATING: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore. Do expect canon-level of gore throughout this story.  
> SUMMARY: Upon waking up, Krok finds himself in the clutches of the Decepticon Justice Division and tries to find answers.  
> DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.
> 
> NOTE: This story has been proofread by many people, including my friends Mindy and Ty. Thank you both for all of your feedback; it would not be what it is without either of you. I also want to acknowledge evilcleverdog on tumblr for your brilliant idea for the Shattered Glass variations of the DJD and letting me use your idea. Thank you Owen for your art banner as well. If I've forgotten to thank anyone, please let me know! You deserve recognition.

As he comes to, this time he doesn't feel like he's in quite so much pain. In fact, he feels almost weightless. Gradually, he realizes that he's in some kind of bubbling bath, a mixture of oil and light solvent that bears a scent of freshness. 

The last thing he remembers is being rescued by his crew. Why the hell is he in a bath?

Optics come online sharply and he tries to sit up, but he immediately finds himself groaning in pain.

A pair of hands ease him back down to sit back. "Please try to relax, Krok."

That's Helex's voice. Those are Helex's hands. He's sitting in Helex's chamber.

Krok's optics widen and he tries to struggle, but he quickly figures out three things: (A) he's still not strong enough to stand on his own, (B) the chamber is not melting him, and (C) his chest has been recently welded back together.

Puzzled, Krok peers down and reluctantly settles into the other's grasp. The hold relaxes until it's apparent that Helex is just supporting his weight and not forcing him down or harming him. What are they waiting for, exactly? Krok attempts to exhale through his vents, wincing at the way they rattle. Tipping his head back, he observes through the steam of the bath the interior of the building he's in.

It's quite plush, to his surprise. As if the person who arranged the interior truly means for it to be a serene and comfortable place to relax in. In the background, he can hear some soothing music playing somewhere, a light and soft tune. That along with the bath he's currently sitting in, Krok would almost believe it, but this has got to be some kind of trick. Still, he does recall that specifically Misfire and the others did choose to bring him to the D.J.D., but this hardly what he expected.

Better to remain suspicious. Krok would keep his guard up if that was possible.

Then he hears an all too familiar voice: "Comfortable, I hope?" 

Letting out a startled groan, Krok turns his head sharply to spot source of the voice. A large and looming tank; that much hasn't changed about him. Instead of a traditional Decepticon purple, it's now a vibrant red that's coloring him. Krok absolutely wishes that he was dreaming or hallucinating, but the aching pain in his body makes that idea impossible. No matter what he can do, he's still face with him: Tarn, leader of the Decepticon Justice Division.

"Oh, Krok. How terrible it is to see you like this," Tarn purrs softly, clearly in some mockery of gentleness. His fingers curl under Krok's chin, carefully tipping his face up, and he doesn't have the ability to jerk away. "I'm not thrilled to go out of order on the List, but I would hate to waste this opportunity."

Krok feels himself tremble. Helex's hand lightly rubs his back, the contact gentle and Krok cannot fathom why.

"Now might be a good time to calm him down," Helex suggests. "He's getting restless."

The glow of Tarn's optics increase slightly. Krok does not like that look. "A good thought. Please, do listen carefully."

This is it. This is the moment. Krok would be a fool to not know about Tarn's ability, to sink his voice into his spark and play with it until it gives up on him, until he dies horribly. There is no escape, and he will perish. He can't brace himself, all he can do is wait as he hears Tarn give a musical hum. The beginning of the end in a hideously charming melody. His mind reels and he wonders what he could have done to his crew to have them make this choice. They went through so much effort to save him, only to subject him to death. Was it really to just save their own plating? He can't believe that, but why else? _Why?!_

It doesn't barge into the pulses of his spark, but rather slowly edges in, as if Tarn somehow doesn't intend to harm. Yet, as his vocals increase, pain shoots through his body, increasing it tenfold, and Krok can't stop himself from giving a burst of pained sounding white noise.

Tarn immediately stops and, for some reason, looks perplexed.

"Easy, easy," Helex tries to hush Krok. Two pairs of hands work over his plating, fingers working their way into gaps of armor and creases. Much to Krok's surprise it would be a relaxing massage, but he'd much rather just not have Helex touching him at all. "What do you think that was, Tarn?"

"Erm. I'm admittedly unsure," Tarn says, looking a little ashamed. "I'll fetch Vos. Perhaps he'd be better suited to assist." He steps away, out of sight.

 _Vos?_ Krok shudders at the memory of that particular member of the D.J.D. The grating voice struggling to speak a basic language, hissing and planting his _face_ onto Krok's--

The historian struggles, trying to stand up, but Helex holds him back. He growls instinctively when he feels a thumb roll over his back. Is Helex really trying to relax him? Is that why he received a _massage_ earlier? 

He goes still as he hears a new pair of footsteps approaching the bath. Warily, he starts to look up, and Krok quickly finds himself freezing in place as his eyes lock on with the other Decepticon's. Vos stands there over him, studying him almost curiously. Like everyone else he's run into today, the paint job Vos wears is quite different, most of him a gleaming white with black accents. Much like the rest of the D.J.D., his optics are a brilliant blue.

Wordlessly, Vos reaches out for Krok. Immediately, Krok flinches back, huffing nervously through his vents, trying uselessly to fight off Helex in order to get away. Vos hesitates, tilting his head before standing upright.

The slim Decepticon gives a slight bow and speaks in a smooth voice, "Scavengers Leader Krok. It would be an honor for you to wear my face, more the pleasure if Helex did not have to hold you in place."

Even if Krok could speak, he has no idea what he would say right now. Didn't Vos have a difficult time with common language? Why the sudden change?

There's a click and the face is removed. Krok vents harder, struggling to contain any inclination of fear and failing. All too quickly, he feels himself panicking, and although Helex does try to soothe him with gentle pats down his back it doesn't help. Not now, not ever. Krok shakes his head, choking out static desperately as he tries to plead for them to not do this. With a despaired noise, Krok stares helplessly as Vos approaches, ready to seat his face into Krok's once again. Yet, as it turns and Krok sees a brief glimpse inside, it's not the spiraling thorns ready to tear his face apart that it was before. He isn't sure what it is exactly, but when it gently clings to his face, he can feel himself slowly become repaired.

"Replenishing scraplets work to repair the damage done. Once completed, the pain should be none," Vos assures, voice smooth and not at all flinching in his ridiculous rhymes.

Yet, he finds it to be true; the pain is going away and he feels better. Not quite 100% yet, but hell of an improvement in comparison to when Tarn had found him. With care clearly in mind, Vos reaches out and takes caution as he slowly removes the face in order to clip it back onto his own helm. 

"What in the Pit is all of this?" Krok finally manages to croak out for the first time in what seems like hours. The repairs on his helm were successful, ironically thanks to Vos.

"You are our honored guest," Tarn informs him gently. "One of our Listed. Vos, would you like to remind him? Perhaps that's what he needs."

A little half-bow is provided by Vos before he continues with, "Scavengers Leader Krok. The Decepticon Justice Division must find all those on our List; the task for us is to find, repair, soothe, and assist. The most dangerous of our army is clearly in need, so we find them and bring them for relaxation indeed. So has been determined by the D.J.D."

The rhyming is still off-putting, weird, and bugs him, but Krok just lets it go. Okay. Fine. So somehow, the D.J.D. decided that people on their List aren't going to be executed, but rather they needed to be cared for? Put that with the new paint jobs and behaviors, and Krok isn't sure what to make of all this, but the same could be said for his own crew at this point.

"So you're not going to murder me," Krok attempts to determine. The mere suggestion seems to bring a shock to most of their expressions and he can feel Helex flinch. Right, then. "I'll take that as a no."

"Do you take us for Autobots?" The tone of voice that Helex uses doesn't imply that he's offended. Instead, he sounds more saddened than anything else. That's downright bizarre.

Damn it. He really should not be feeling even the slightest bit guilt, but this is almost convincing. "No, just. This isn't really filling in any of my expectations."

"Considering the accident before with my voice, I can't say that I really blame you. Usually when I sing, it puts people to sleep; inducing pain was far from my mind, Krok." Tarn kneels down to address Krok more personally. "You should know me better than that."

"Should I," is spoken flatly with no question by Krok, a skeptical look given to Tarn. Piece by piece, he tries to put everything together into his head from what he's learned so far. Okay. First thing's first: figure out where, exactly, he is. "Am I on Cybertron?"

Tarn nods in confirmation. "Correct."

That shouldn't even be remotely right. He should be on a forgotten moon with his crew and a leftover science project from Shockwave. That's where he should be. Instead, he's here, with the D.J.D, they're acting strange and their paintjobs are off and why are their badges red, and--

Krok sighs and rubs his forehead. Where to even begin with this? He remembers strangely finding red Decepticon badges in Shockwave's lab, but he isn't even sure if that's relevant. Maybe the badges are linked to mind control or-- or something else. Either way, Krok can't make any strong conclusions. Not on his own.

"Where's my crew?" Krok asks a bit warily. He still isn't sure how to feel about them turning him in to Tarn and the others, but on the other hand he hasn't been tortured by them. Yet. 

Tarn tilts his head. "They're currently being attended to by Kaon. They were more concerned about you."

There's a noise, like someone trying to clear their throat. All optics immediately turn towards Tesarus, who stands towering above all of them but peeking out sheepishly from the doorway. His plating is a gleaming bright blue, polished to perfection while his strange X-shaped optics are more of a softer color by comparison. The grinder in the middle of Tesarus's abdomen is completely gone, leaving what looks like mesh cloths and other mechanisms that don't quite look like they're meant for torture. Despite his height he looks mildly uncomfortable before he's kneeling down. As if on cue, Vos approaches him and tips his head in. It looks like Tesarus is almost shyly whispering to him. Eventually, Vos nods, indicating he got the message.

Vos addresses Tarn with, "Most respected leader Tarn. Our next guest has finally knocked upon our door. Now is the time to see if we can find out more. So speaks Tesarus."

"Ah, very good. Please show him in, Vos." Tarn offers his hand to Krok. "Do you have the strength to see your team right now?"

Narrowing his eyes in determination, Krok braces a hand against the edge of the bath. He bats away Helex's hands, stepping over the rim instead and ignoring Tarn's assistance. He stares at Tarn and says, "Always."

"This way, then." Tarn gestures for Krok to follow him, waiting patiently for the Scavengers commander to slowly limp after him. While it frustrates Krok, he can't go any faster and he absolutely will not take the _help_ that Tarn would offer him.

Walking behind Krok, startlingly, are both Tesarus and Vos. The heavy steps are startling, but when Krok glances over his shoulder it almost looks like Tesarus is trying to hide behind Vos while they walk. Krok doesn't know what to make of it, but he's glad to see them take a turn in the hallway that splits off from himself. Still, it leaves him with Tarn, which isn't that great either.

Eventually, Tarn and Krok reach a pair of double doors. While most facilities are straight forward and plain, the doors are elegantly crafted with expensive tastes. It feels like whoever made them constructed it with a lot of love.

Tarn pushes the doors open.

Immediately, the sight that Krok takes in is something that he isn't sure how to add up. In one corner of the room, he can see Deadlock and Fulcrum wrestling and from his perspective it appears that Fulcrum is actually winning currently. Misfire lacks an expression, focusing instead on typing on his datapad and attempting to ignore his surroundings. Krok is able to spot Kaon; instead of his almost rustic look from his memories, instead he looks more silvery and lightly purple. Kaon's hand is interlinked with Crankcase while they chatter to each other. Behind them, Spinister appears to be trying to hoard the treats left out on a tray all to himself.

All at once, everyone's eyes look up and notice that Krok is upright and walking, for the most part. Sheepishly, Crankcase jerks his hand away from Kaon's, Fulcrum grumbles and hauls Deadlock onto his feet, and Spinister completely drops all of the treats he had in his arms. Calmly, Misfire stands up.

"Captain," Misfire addresses him. "You look improved."

"At ease," Krok offers, a little amused and incredibly puzzled.

The command seems to make Misfire pause, his arm slowly sinking. From his rigid stance, he almost doesn't seem to know how to relax. Everyone else seems to settle much more easily, although Kaon is turns his head vaguely in Krok's direction, almost uncertain.

"I need to talk to my crew," Krok tells Tarn, not making anything else an option.

There's a nod in response. "Of course," Tarn responds. "Please, all of you, sit. I must say, this is certainly an honor, to have all of you finally in our clinic." The fact that Tarn says it so earnestly is still bizarre to Krok, but he's slowly starting to feel like it might be sincere. That and the word stands out to him. Clinic. _This is a clinic._ The D.J.D. run a _clinic._

After shaking his head and trying to digest this information, Krok lets out an irritated sigh. "All right. Everyone, sit down."

No one questions Krok's decision. When he says sit, everyone obeys, taking their seats with various expressions on their faces. Tarn looks positively pleased.

"Now -- I hope you're all comfortable?" Tarn asks, sounding invested.

It's sort of a mixed bag, Krok is quickly determining. With the way the room is arranged, everyone is sitting in kind of a circle in some unusually luxurious chairs, and to his left is Misfire, sitting completely upright with his arms folded, giving Krok his full attention; Fulcrum is slouching with his leg crossed lazily over the other, but he looks incredibly ticked off to be here. Next to him, Deadlock just terribly amused, kind of a know-it-all expression that irrationally makes Krok want to punch him in the face -- though he supposes that very well could be attributed to the fact that he shares the same frame and name as the traitor he remembers. To Krok's right, Crankcase looks positively delighted to be here, and Spinister seems to share the sentiment.

If the D.J.D. weren't involved? Krok thinks that, maybe, the reactions would be the complete opposite if everything was to his expectations. That Misfire would be cozying up in his chair with Fulcrum looking around curiously, while Spinister anxiously looking around and wanting to leave and Crankcase looking just as grumpy about it. But it's none of that. Everything is the opposite as he determines it.

While Krok thinks about the situation, he jerks when a small thing hops into his lap and he stares down warily. It looks kind of like Kaon's pet sparkeater, only less dangerous. Just about as drooly, though.

"What's with the...?" Krok gestures vaguely to the turbofox in his lap.

"Kaon rescued it from the Autobots sometime ago, and he's been acting as a therapeutic addition to our treatment," Tarn explains. "Most of our Listed react very positively to his presence."

"Yeah, no. It's gotta go." Krok picks up the drooling critter, holding it out. Despite the fact that he's trying to get rid of the thing, the turbofox wags its tail excitedly.

"Sorry," Kaon says hastily, stumbling over to scoop up his pet from Krok's hands. "Sorry, I think he just likes you. Sorry."

Reassuring a member of the D.J.D. is definitely not something he ever expected to have to do. Krok sighs and holds up a hand. "Er. No harm done. Could you leave us for a few minutes?"

"Right, of course. Please, don't hesitate to call upon us if you need anything. I'll bring refreshments," Tarn informs them, bowing his head politely before he steps out of the room.

"Okay then." Krok exhales slowly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "First of all, I need to know how long I've been out. It must've been awhile, since we're back on Cybertron and all. And I'm assuming the war isn't as over as we thought, considering what happened at Garrus-2 and... and what's with the look you're all giving me?"

"Um. Captain, you feelin' okay?" Crankcase asks, rubbing the back of his head. "Hardly anyone's ever left Cybertron before. 'Cept maybe Elite Guard soldiers like Thunderwing."

Fulcrum scoffs and pulls out a new cy-gar. "And I'm pretty sure that we would've noticed the war taking a break."

"I thought you finished surgery on him after we got here," Misfire says coldly to Spinister.

The surgeon holds up his hands defensively. "I did! I so did. I sealed him up and I checked his other vitals and he's recovering real nicely! I swear!"

"I'm sure Spinister did his part," Krok says. "Misfire, back off. How long have I been out? Would someone answer that?"

There's a pause before Misfire picks up his datapad, scrolling through his notes. "Shortly after we lost sight of you during our last mission you were held by the Autobots for a time. We quickly organized and moved out to contact Pharma and locate you. You didn't end up unconscious until you began to react poorly to the idea of being taken to the D.J.D."

"Right, I think your panicking triggered you to pass out. The strain on top of your injuries was probably too much," Spinister adds softly. "Which was for only a few hours."

No. No, that doesn't make any sense. "Back at Shockwave's lab," Krok tries to remind them. "We were investigating it. Then I blacked out."

"Riiiiight. Shockwave would so totally have a lab, just like I would have a petro-rabbit farm!" Deadlock remarks, earning a swat from Fulcrum. "What? I thought my totally sarcastic response was endearing and charming!"

"We were at one of his labs, we were scavenging, there was information that Fulcrum was looking into. Someone give me a straight answer!" Krok stands up, frustrated. "I must have been out for a long time for all of you even be this way! Crankcase, your head's repaired and I have no idea where Spinister picked up this new attitude. Misfire, you can actually _aim_ and Fulcrum's never been eager for a fight before and I've _never_ added Deadlock to my crew! As a matter of fact, what did you all even do with Grimlock? He was our ticket no matter how things turned out!"

There's a brief moment of silence as the Decepticons in front of him consider how to respond. While Misfire frowns and dims his optics in thought, Crankcase and Spinister exchange concerned glances. Keeping his clouch, Fulcrum thoughtfully exhales out air from his mouth, puffing away on his cy-gar to the point of looking like a chimney. Deadlock looks almost entirely disinterested in the topic, shrugging and looking at the ceiling instead.

"Captain..." Crankcase starts, his voice soft. "Maybe it was First Aid. He's got a way with this kind of stuff. Convincing you of things."

At the name, Spinister goes rigid and Fulcrum snorts angrily, hissing out smoke. Deadlock tilts his head down, peering at Krok.

"I'm not making this up," Krok says, feeling a little desperate. Why, why are they looking at him like something's _off?_ They're the ones that are different!

Misfire rubs his chin. "Maybe it has something to do with his ember. What was it you said about it, Spinister?"

"What? That it was positron-charged?" Spinister replies, squinting thoughtfully.

"Clarify. And explain what an ember is," Krok orders as he struggles to reel in his frustration.

There's a moment of hesitation, then Spinister responds, "It's part of what allows us to function. The ember is our lifeforce, basically. Electron-charged as opposed to your unusually positron-charged state going on right now. So usually embers have a flame-like appearance, but yours almost seems... mm, electrified? Yeah, that's how I'll describe it! It's kinda fascinating, but at the same time, I'm really worried about how that must have happened to you."

Ember. They're calling _that_ an ember. "It's a spark," Krok adds, already starting to sense renewed exhaustion sinking in.

"Ohhh, that's such a good word for it!" Spinister claps his hands together. "Wow! Yeah, it's got a bit of zap to it. Anyway! A positron-charged, uh, spark if you will is so rare that it's just straight up never happened before. I mean, can you imagine trying to cram a positron charge and an electron charge at each other? The results would be not pretty, let me tell you!"

Krok snaps at him, interrupting, "What does this all even mean for me? My spark's never changed. This is who I am, who I've always been!"

A different voice cuts into the room: "Perhaps that's something that I can try to help look into."

Looking for the source of the voice, Krok very quickly finds it and his optics widen as he nearly stumbles back, not sure if he should run or not. A smart choice would be to shout for a retreat and to flee immediately, but it's hard to make any other decision when faced with someone like Overlord standing in the doorway with Tarn next to him.

Overlord is as large as he expects, but there is admittedly something about his presence that's different. Every time Krok's seen an image or a video concerning Overlord in the past, there's been an inkling of fear and regrettable respect but right now? Overlord almost makes him feel calm, which is a welcome difference considering all that's happened but it _still_ makes Krok wary. Appearance-wise, his frame looks very similar to the one he remembers, it's just that-- well. He's certainly bright green with pink accents.

Cradled in one arm is some kind of bug thing with several glowing optics. It makes a soft purring noise, the careful strum of a tiny engine.

Tarn places a hand to Overlord's shoulder. "I know we were meant to reach out to Starscream, but he stated that he could not come out to us and expressed his deepest regrets. Instead, he sent his best protege to assist us in this matter. I believe you already know each other?"

"Vaguely," Krok grunts.

"I'm happy to become reacquainted with you, Krok," Overlord assures, his voice soft and disarming. "You haven't met my companion yet. Bob, perhaps you should introduce yourself."

Carefully, the creature is set down, and the thing called Bob starts to cautiously approach Krok. Much to Krok's better judgment, he thinks that maybe Bob is almost endearing.

He squints at Bob, but refuses to touch him.

"That's all right," Overlord assures without any inclination of offense. He gently picks up Bob back into his cradling hold. "At the very least, I'd like a moment to get some one-on-one time with Krok and get to know him better myself. Maybe run some tests if he's open to it. Do you have a private room somewhere?"

"Of course," Tarn replies.

"You expect me to be comfortable with being in a room _alone_ with Overlord," Krok states flatly, then looks at his crew for some help.

Misfire gestures to Overlord. "He's studied under several impressive minds, starting with Megatron himself when he still taught mathematics at the University of Crystal City. During the war, he's learned under Shockwave, Froid, and currently he's studying closely under Starscream's exclusive teachings. Overlord is someone I have no concerns about, especially if he comes with Starscream's recommendation. However, if you have misgivings about being alone in a room with him, any number of us would stand by at your side, Captain."

The door opens once more to interrupt the conversation with Vos and Tesarus stepping inside. In one of Tesarus's pair of arms he holds a large tray, filled with glasses of energon and other treats that, honestly, Krok cannot even fathom; he hasn't seen or had a real meal in years. Pausing for a moment, Tesarus leans down to softly whisper into Vos's auditory sensor. Once the message is done, Vos places his hand onto his chest and inclines his head slightly. "Honored guests of the D.J.D. I, that is Tesarus, would like to bring you a carefully crafted treat. It would be my, that is his, honor if you accepted, relaxed, and would eat. So says Tesarus."

"There Vos goes! Rhyme on a dime! It'd be way, way too long if I didn't hear it again," Deadlock says. Fulcrum seems to agree with a low grunt.

The treats on the tray seem to catch Spinister's attention, though, with his optics wide and glowing with interest. "Oh man! Are you serious?" He gets up, appearing to completely forget the issue at hand as he starts to reach for the tray, then stops as he looks at Krok hopefully. "Captain! Can I? Please?"

Krok exhales, not hiding his irritation. "All right. Help yourself."

"Thanks, Captain!" Spinister says pleasantly. "Why aren't we here more often, anyway?"

"Because we don't usually make the time for it," Fulcrum remarks, side-eyeing how Spinister and Crankcase gleefully snag what they can.

The brief pause allows Krok to mull over Misfire's suggestion as he looks over his crew. Faces that he'd grown fond of as he found them over the course of time, but their motivations are unknown to him now. True, they went through the effort of rescuing him, but he isn't sure what to anticipate. Not when they had decided to deposit him to the D.J.D.

On the other hand, Tarn and his team's behaviors respectively did not make much sense either. A lot of people have changed since he'd seen them last. He's growing increasingly desperate for answers, and if Overlord can help him, who else can he turn to? Then again, what he remembers of Overlord and the reports of what he'd done at Garrus-9 had been enough to turn the ingest tanks of most soldiers. 

Who here could make him really feel an inch safer with Overlord? Crankcase apparently sympathizes with Pharma and seems close with Kaon and who knows who else, while Fulcrum is wildly unpredictable in his brash behavior. Deadlock is right out, which leaves Spinister and Misfire.

Spinister who apparently is so gleeful to stuff his face as soon as he can with treats and strange fluffy energon-based pastries, making an outright fool of himself.

Krok shakes his head. That really just leaves one, then. "Misfire. You come with me."

"Of course, Captain." Immediately, Misfire stands up sharply and smoothly salutes him.

"Very good. I'll take you to one of our private rooms," Tarn says.

Both Tarn and Overlord polite hold the double doors open for Krok, the chivalrous action a bit jarring to him to the point that it almost makes the war historian stumble. Krok coughs and just shuffles forward with Misfire following behind. 

It's a short walk later down the hallway, and Tarn opens a door for the three of them plus Bob. "Be sure to inform me if you need anything. All of our equipment is available to you," Tarn informs Overlord.

"I'm always grateful to your continued assistance, Tarn." Overlord smiles warmly, placing a hand to Tarn's upper arm. "I promise to call for you."

Baffling. Truly baffling to see Tarn get along so _well_ with an infamous traitor, but at this point Krok just gives up in questioning it. Sure, Tarn and Overlord are best friends now. _Why the hell not._ Letting out an exhausted and wordless grumble, Krok shoves by the two of them into the room. 

This room, like the others that Krok has seen so far, is just as plush and elegant. Personally, Krok doesn't see the point of having such a luxurious couch and he feels weird for sitting on it, but he says nothing as he tries to get comfortable. Overlord smiles to Tarn as he thanks him once more, and Misfire decides to stand behind the couch that Krok attempts (and fails at) relaxing on. It's a bit unnerving to have someone stand so stiffly behind him like that, but he did ask for Misfire out of everyone. No turning back from that.

As soon as Overlord enters the room he shuts the door behind himself before letting Bob scurry to the floor. He glances over Krok, then offers a faint smile. "Let me just make sure that I have this correct based on what I was told. Your last mission ended with some complications, which in turn caused First Aid to capture you and take you to Garrus-2. Your team immediately launches into a rescue attempt -- ill-advised, but impressively loyal -- and they successfully brought you back here for recovery. However, your ember--"

"Spark," Krok interrupts sourly.

Overlord pauses, then amends his statement, "Your spark is charged in a way that would be physically impossible for anyone else."

"I'd agree with your summary if I knew what this mission was that was mentioned," Krok answers, folding his arms.

"I can refresh your memory," Misfire volunteers. "We received a tip off that there was a bomb to disarm. It wasn't far from one of our site of operations, so it was necessary. You ordered Crankcase, Spinister, and Fulcrum onto the scene. Deadlock and I acted as back-up while you performed scouting on your own. Deadlock was the last to see you. As it turned out, the bomb was a dud. Crankcase was able to determine that there was a brief energy surge. It was quick, like a gunshot. We immediately set out to find you. Unfortunately, First Aid found you first."

"So you don't remember the mission at all?" Overlord asks, sounding deeply curious.

"No!" Krok growls, not bothering to hide his anger. "I don't know anything about this _mission_. I don't even know when Deadlock ever came back to the Decepticons! Or why everyone's acting like this or why _you_ \--" Krok points at Overlord "--are even welcome here without Tarn practically ripping your head off!"

"Captain," Misfire says quietly. While his voice has been usually distant and stand-offish for quite sometime now, it cracks a little at this moment. Krok almost feels guilty for losing his patience, but he's had enough of this nonsense.

"He's welcome to his questions and whatever he's feeling right now," Overlord says, holding up a hand as a gesture of assurance. "Krok, what would I have done to earn such anger from Tarn?"

"This is a waste of--" Krok huffs, clenching his hands into fists before he responds with, "You betrayed Megatron. You left the Decepticons. You made Garrus-9 your fragging _playground_ of slaughter. I saw some of the footage, and it was grueling. You tortured and killed both factions."

There's a moment of silence in the room. Overlord frowns and rubs his chin, his optics dimming as he thinks and tries to process the information, as if the possibility of the _exact_ situation Krok explained to him just is too difficult to consider. Eventually, Overlord just nods, seemingly without judgment. "Tarn is one of the most patient, open-minded people I know. Do you think he's capable of killing me?"

"I know Tarn's capable of anything," Krok says, his tone of voice low. "Him and his lot are _infamous_ for how they execute who they claim to be traitors to the cause. If Tarn knows about your betrayal -- and I'm sure he does -- then he must've gone insane to just accept you as he does right now."

"Overlord, clearly Krok's gotten--" Misfire starts.

" _Don't_ say crazy," Krok snaps at him, silently afraid that maybe he's _going_ a little mad at this point.

"Confused," Misfire suggests instead, giving Krok a sympathetic look. "Whatever experiments that First Aid did to him must have caused this strange result in his ember, which is causing him memory loss and memories of things that just never happened. I wouldn't put it past First Aid to even make the physical changes in him with the paint swap and the optical replacement. He's done very similar things before to Fulcrum and many others." That catches Krok's attention, making him turn his head to look at Misfire. There's a moment in which Misfire looks a little more worn, a little more sorrowful. Now is not a good opportunity to ask. Misfire shakes his head and returns to his more cold personality so he can ask Overlord, "What can we do for Krok?"

"I'm not prepared to jump to conclusions yet." Overlord slowly approaches Krok, kneeling down in front of the much smaller soldier. "Not until I have all the facts. Krok, I would like to run some tests. I have a theory, but I need more data before I can prove it. I want your permission to take a sample of your fuel lines and to run a scan of your protoform. It'll be as non-invasive as possible. Do I have your permission?"

This is absurd, Krok keeps telling himself. This whole thing, that he won't be believed on what he knows. But he's sincerely afraid that maybe Misfire is somehow right, and it makes him bitter to think that. Maybe his memories are made up. Maybe he's going insane. That, or everyone else is.

However, if Overlord can somehow find an answer, then Krok is prepared to give him whatever he wants. More than anything, he honestly just wants things back the way they were. He misses the warmth of his crew, the one in his memories. How ridiculous Misfire is with no ability to stay still or stay focused yet has such a skill when it comes to scavenging and finding fuel for the team, Crankcase's more familiar grunts and grumpiness but making sure Krok wasn't pushing it the way he habitually does, the amicable nature Fulcrum naturally has and how scared and brave he was at the same time, and Krok even misses Spinister's paranoia and how Krok had to explain to him over and over the state of affairs and assure him that everything was going to be okay.

Krok just wants all of that back so, so badly. Something familiar, something welcoming, even if it means living off of scraps for the rest of his life.

"Yes," Krok answers finally. "You do."

Overlord smiles kindly, giving a light touch to Krok's elbow. "It shouldn't be long. Hold still."

A needle extends from Overlord's finger. Quick and precise, it presses between plating in Krok's arm and into a fuel line before automatically withdrawing a sample of energon. Once the sample's been obtained, Overlord withdraws his hand before standing up.

"Misfire, please move over," Overlord requests, gesturing once before starting to key in commands to his wrist.

Politely, Misfire steps away from Krok, giving him some space. A yellow scanning light extends from Overlord's wrist, passing over Krok. A small frown forms on Overlord's face before he types in a different command. The light turns green and waves over Krok's body once again. After a tilt of his head, another bout of typing occurs from Overlord before the color of the light shifts to blue. Once it scans over Krok, Overlord finally looks satisfied.

"Give me a moment to analyze these results." Overlord lets out a soft chuckle. "The first few attempts were... interesting. At first I couldn't even find any life signs from you."

"Similar thing happened to First Aid back in Garrus-2. They were trying to pull a medical summary, but it wasn't working." Krok taps his faceplate. "Didn't think much of it at the time. What with the situation and all."

"Perfectly understandable," Overlord assures as he focuses on the screen displaying on his wrist. "Your energon sample isn't entirely different from your spark. It's also infused with a positron charge, but it's much more faint. For example, drinking an electron-charged sample of energon wouldn't hurt you. It's automatically changed as soon as you start digesting it, so you're safe on that account. Your fuel line results seem malnourished otherwise, either due to lifestyle or the charge itself. Hard to say."

"Lifestyle. Not my decision," Krok mutters. Filtering and refiltering whatever mixtures Misfire puts together is just the safest way to consume the liquids during their scavenging ventures.

Overlord nods, indicating he's listening. "Your scan results are certainly interesting. First Aid wouldn't have any reason to be looking for anything outside of your medical status for his own interests. Our scanners just aren't constructed to look for your kind of charge because it's never existed in the way it does until now. So, I went a little deeper. I went looking at your frame structure, a saganical scan, and x-ray."

"Which means what?" Krok asks.

"One moment." Overlord turns his wrist, projecting a hologram of information for Krok. The imagery is his own protoform and the framing around it, as well as textual data based on the scan, but most of it is honestly science jargon that's difficult for him to follow. "The frame structure is a little different than the last time we had a medical report on you. Spinister regularly updates his medical reports once a week, considering how often your crew goes into difficult missions. The last medical report we had on you was three days ago along with everyone else's health summaries. First Aid has skill in changing physical bodies, this is true. How long did he have Krok in his facility?"

"No more than two hours, maximum," Misfire responds.

Overlord nods. "It takes much more time to make these intricate changes. Your spark and whatever potential optical replacement and paint jobs aside, we're talking about things like your smaller canopy and the sudden reinstallation of your t-cog. Your casing is also on the wrong side of your body. The opposite, actually. Those kinds of changes would take far too long. Now, about the results of the saganical scan."

A few buttons are pressed, and Krok is faced with a summary of something about saganical... particles? Must be related to the scan, because honestly he'd never heard of such a scan before anyway. Krok shrugs helplessly, not understanding what he's reading.

"These particles are unique. Related, actually, to long-distance space travel. I remember reviewing similar samples when Starscream was showing me some readings he caught off of Thunderwing once." Overlord kneels down and absently pets Bob on the head. "Usually, those are degrassion particles. Related to the kinds of engines that power Thunderwing's methods of transportation. Rare, but something we've recorded. Now, saganical particles are a little different. They're... mm, how can I put this? Where degrassion particles have to do with space, saganical particles have to do with space-time-dimension. I've seen a few rare readings before while working on projects with Starscream and Jetfire. Back when Jetfire was still a Decepticon, anyway."

"Right," Krok says, mostly following along. "What does any of that mean?"

Overlord almost looks sheepish for not getting to the point a little faster. "Some several years ago, I scanned readings very similar to yours off of someone else. His name was Spanner." Krok frowns, trying to remember where he'd heard that name before. "Spanner was... a good friend. A fellow student under Starscream. Spanner was invested in finding a way to travel through outer-space with more ease than Thunderwing's methods. He was trying to invent his stellar-spanner -- not the most humble of names, but he was rightfully brilliant -- so we could travel immediately from one location to the next. Then, one day, he looked a little different. Acted a little different. The badge was purple."

"Spanner. Spanner. That name... it was the same name as one of the assistants at Shockwave's lab!" Krok snaps his fingers. That was it!

"This might be where our stories connect." Overlord turns off his holographic display. "Spanner seemed to babble nonsense at first. He told us that we lost our minds, that we weren't the real military. When he ran off, I tried to follow him, but the Autobots reached him before I could. The only other thing that I have to link to this was one of the first displays of the saganical particles off of him. Other instances have been rare; I've only found corpses with faint readings and they were few and far in between. Some Autobot, some Decepticon, some neither."

"I don't have much else to add. Before I woke up here on Cybertron, I was in one of Shockwave's labs. Old, abandoned, but we hoped to make some use of it." Krok shrugs. "Fulcrum was trying to retrieve data on what the lab was used for. He mentioned Shockwave's assistants: Spanner and Astroscope. Similar I assume, to do with galactic travel and whatnot. Couldn't tell you more. I blacked out before Fulcrum could locate more data."

Overlord puts his fist into his other hand's palm. "This isn't a coincidence, and you're the first person I've found alive with this amount of saganical readings. This tells me one important thing, Krok, so listen carefully. You aren't from Cybertron. Not this one. You're from another universe _entirely._ "

That's alarming, suffice it to say. Krok isn't sure if he's ready to quite believe it. He stares, sinking in his chair a little, trying to wrap his mind around that conclusion.

"That's ludicrous. Why didn't we hear anything about these _particles_ before?" Misfire asks skeptically.

"Because I never had so much data before! Everyone but Starscream and myself were ready to write off Spanner as having a breakdown." Overlord scoops Bob back into his arm. "Think about it. It makes sense. The things you claim that I did or that Tarn would do? Those are the _exact opposite_ of what we're even remotely capable of. I'm a pacifist by nature, and Tarn only defends himself if he has no other choice. Your casing for your spark is on the _opposite_ side of where it should be, and your charge is the opposite of what's medically possible."

"Let me..." Krok trails off and holds up his hand. "Let me think about this for a moment."

It seems like it makes sense. Maybe. It just might have this whole thing figured out, why his entire crew is acting so wildly different than their usual personalities. Krok is prepared to deny it, of course, but he knows alternative universes exist. It just doesn't explain how he ended up here. It came out of no where. 

But what else makes sense? That he's insane? That everyone else is insane? None of that is right. No, his memories _are_ correct. If Overlord is as good as others have claimed, this has to be it. It would explain why the D.J.D. were trying to be helpful and comforting as they were, as well as everyone else he's run into. Maybe whatever Shockwave was working on in that old lab is related to this somehow.

"How do I get home?" Krok asks suddenly, feeling an awkward pit in the bottom of his fuel tanks start to develop. He was homesick before, now it's abruptly far worse.

"I-- hm." Overlord frowns. "I'm afraid that I don't know, Krok. I'm sorry."

A whole universe away from what he truly knows. From people he knows. His team, his crew. Krok slumps in his chair, starting to feel helpless. Is he stuck here, then? Is that it?

"Krok," Overlord says softly, resting a hand to the historian's shoulder. "I really, truly am sorry. I got carried away in my rant."

"No." Krok shakes his head. "You... you did your part. You helped me figure out what's really going on here. Now I need to figure out how to undo this mess."

"Similarly, if Overlord is correct, then we need to find our captain. Our Krok," Misfire points out. "Our goals are tied together. I think it would be in your best interest to remain with us for the time being until then."

"He isn't wrong," Overlord offers, trying to console Krok. "Misfire and the rest of the crew are loyal to the Decepticons, and ten times as much to their captain. You might not be him, but they can help you."

Krok frowns, bitterly wanting to reject the help. They aren't _his_ crew and he certainly isn't going to go about replacing them with these stand-ins. He shuts off his optics and focuses on cycling air, in and out, trying to relax.

Refusing their help won't get him home any closer. That's just stupid pride, and pride is what kills many good soldiers. No, Krok needs to play this smart. If he's going to find a way back, he has to put up with this team for awhile until then. Overlord's right. Misfire's right.

"Then I guess we got some planning to do," Krok responds gruffly.

"That's the spirit," Overlord responds, smiling broadly. "I'll do everything I can to help. For now, it might be good to put everything we've learned together and talk to the rest of the Scavengers."

"Suppose it would be." Krok finally rises from his chair, starting to feel some renewed determination. He's still angry with the situation, furious that he's been put into this position. More far away from his team than he thought was possible. However, he's prepared to do his best to make everything right.

A little bit more worrying in the back of his mind, he can only imagine what kind of trouble his actual crew is in.

Wait a minute. Misfire has a point. If he's here...

Where's this universe's Krok? Where did he go?

 

-=-=-

 

**Primax 1005.19 Gamma  
Shockwave's Old Lab (one of many)**

 

"Get down and transform twenty times, soldiers!" the unusually colored Krok snaps at the crew in front of him. "I'm embarrassed to even look at your plating right now, scrapheaps!"

That earns a nervous laugh from Fulcrum who raises his hand warily. "Uh, but I can't transform easily unless I jump off a high place. Uh, sir!"

"Then I guess I'm kickin' you off the ship twenty times plus ten for the backtalk, Chintron!" Krok barks at him.

"Y'know, Krok is a little more intense than I remember him being," Misfire says, cringing.

 

-=-=-

 

**Primax -408.24 Epsilon  
The Decepticon Justice Division's Clinic**

 

The explanation is not simple to go through and explain. To offer his support, Overlord keeps his hand steady to Krok's shoulder. With the situation as it is, Krok takes as many friends as he can get right now. Fortunately, Misfire and Overlord primarily relay the report.

The strongest and loudest reaction is from Fulcrum, who looked bored at first but progressively started to look angrier and angrier before he suddenly looked furious. Standing up suddenly, Fulcrum growls and swiftly kicks his chair aside, causing it to smash into the wall and leaving cracks from the impact. Tearing the cy-gar from his mouth, Fulcrum crushes it and storms up to Krok, eyes practically ablaze. The reaction's not exactly what Krok was expecting, but honestly he isn't sure _what_ exactly he was anticipating.

"What the hell did you do with him?!" Fulcrum snarls in his face. "If you aren't _him_ , then what good are you, bub?"

"C'mon, Commander Manpain!" With a sigh, Deadlock hops to his feet from his chair and snags Fulcrum by the arm. "If you get all riled up, might be _tick tick tick boom_ for all of us, eh? Be kind of counter-productive and all. Just might blast us to the fourth dimension, then we'd be in all kinds of hilarious trouble. Since we're speaking about dimensions and all."

Fulcrum yanks his arm free. "Shut it, Deadlock! You know I'm right. This _fake_ isn't going to do us any good!"

"Fulcrum, maybe--" Spinister starts, then laughs nervously when Fulcrum glares at him. "Haha, nope! Just kidding! Look at me, I'm off to go not argue with you!" He shuffles away quickly to crouch behind Crankcase.

Krok scowls and takes a step forward to deal with this confrontation. "Trust me, I didn't ask to be here. I didn't _ask_ First Aid to take me to his base and make someone saw me open! I didn't ask to be taken away from _my_ crew, either!"

"Cry me a damned river," Fulcrum growls. "We've all had a little taste of his sense of fun. You got a sample of what he's capable of."

"Now c'mon, ain't no reason to start such a fuss," Crankcase tries his hand at calming the situation.

Fulcrum whirls to face him. "It's plenty of reason! It's his fault Krok's gone, and I want answers!"

"You aren't the only one," Krok tells him sternly. "You think I want to be here?"

"I don't _care_ what you want!" Fulcrum hisses.

Having enough, Krok steps forward and grabs Fulcrum by one of the wings on his back. "Do you think I'm ignorant just because First Aid shuffled _your_ parts around? Had his _fun?_ A little bit of chainsaw to the chest nothing in comparison to you? Get down from your pedestal and listen to me _now_ and settle down!" he shouts, the next few words spoken by running on instinct. "That's an order!"

Fulcrum's eyes widen briefly, then he narrows them and jerks himself away from Krok. He doesn't say anything, not at the moment, but Krok can still see the fury burn in his eyes. That won't be dying anytime soon.

Krok lets out a heavy exhale of air, rubbing his forehead. That was undoubtedly a low blow he took. Honestly, he doesn't even know exactly what happened to Fulcrum in the past in this dimension, but it seems to have hit home. Misfire mentioned it previously, likely not realizing that Krok _doesn't_ know. Just another fact to brush over at the time.

He shakes his head and addresses the rest of the crew. "Listen. We don't have to be friends. That's fine with me. I'm not interested in _being_ friends. I want to go back to where I belong, and you want your captain. It's a simple choice. Help me get out of here, and we'll find your missing commander."

There's a moment of silence between all of them. Crankcase considers a moment, glancing over his shoulder at Spinister. Eventually, he looks back at Krok and says, "I'm in. I mean, you aren't our Krok, but I ain't gonna leave you stranded. Not in the least."

"Oh yeah! Plus, it's gonna be an awesome adventure!" Spinister pipes up. "Or, well, I'm sure it will be."

"Eh, whatever. Count me in or something," Deadlock says flatly, shrugging. "But not to burst anyone's super invested bubble? Where do we start? I mean, who the smelt is gonna know anything about satanical--"

"Saganical," Overlord interjects as politely as possible.

"Whateverical whatsits? Besides big and nerdy over here." Deadlock gestures vaguely in Overlord's direction. "What do we even do? Put a _missing_ label on every bottle of engex with our Krok's picture slapped on it?"

Misfire folds his arms. "I suppose that I might prefer to think back on this. On when we lost track of our captain."

"During that mission?" Krok asks.

"Right. I mentioned we got a tip off for the mission. Typically, we receive tips of information from a source. From the Cicle of Light," Misfire answers. "We don't hold many other leads right now. There might be our best option to begin with. If they can tell us where they got their tip from, then that can be one step closer to you getting back to where you belong, and us finding the right Krok."

There's a moment of hesitation from Krok, and he thinks back a little. During that brief time he was in Garrus-2, how First Aid was taunting him with information. _It was one of your own that caused you to be here._ Does that mean the Circle of Light, or the Decepticons? More specifically, this crew?

"That might be a good start," Krok says stiffly. "Right. A good start."

Misfire gives him a peculiar look before he addresses the rest of the crew, "Then this is your mission. With our captain missing, command falls to me for now. We will start together with the Circle of Light, and see where that takes us. Scavengers, replenish your supplies. We depart in an hour."

A few seconds roll by, as if the crew doesn't quite know how to motivate itself at first. Then, there are mumbles of confirmation before they disperse. While Spinister and Crankcase start to quickly chat it up between each other cheerfully as they go to work, Fulcrum shoots Krok a final angry glare while Deadlock just wears an indifferent smirk as they pass by.

Krok watches them go, but relief doesn't settle in. Not even close.

"Excellent. I'm glad you have a beginning point," Overlord says, sounding relieved.

"Yeah." Krok pauses, then gestures for Overlord and Misfire. "You two. I need to talk to you. Aside from everyone else."

Misfire tilts his head. "Very well. I may not be your second-in-command technically, but I am here to help you."

Misfire. As his second-in-command. It's an amusing thought, but Krok has to be make a choice. He has to decide if he can really count on him. Eventually, Krok lets out an unsteady vent of air before finally coming clean.

"When I was in Garrus-2, First Aid said something. Something about how one of us was the reason why I was captured." Krok shakes his head. "I don't know. Maybe he was saying that to get under my plating. But it might help explain a little while your Krok is missing if there's a traitor."

"It would be very easy to write it off as that. That maybe he wanted to cause discord in this team." Misfire shakes his head. "But, he had no plans that we know of that would mean he expected you to successfully escape so he would probably only say it if he meant it. The truth can be harsher than we want it to be, but I also have no reason to believe that we have a traitor in our company."

"I did mention your crew-- rather, our Krok's crew was incredibly loyal. Did I not?" Overlord says.

Krok shakes his head. "Look, it's plausible. I don't want to believe it, but if it is true, we should take it seriously. Besides, how loyal could _Deadlock_ be?"

"I see." Misfire, for all of his lack of expressions, appears thoughtful. "If I may offer a perspective: if everything here is the opposite of your expectations, perhaps so should your distrust of him? I recognize his violent nature, but it hardly matches others I could name in the Decepticon military. Besides, you stated earlier how Overlord is a traitor where you're from, and I certainly would never accuse him of even considering to betray anyone's trust."

Krok scowls, honestly not sure if he can appreciate Misfire's defense of his teammate or be irritated by it. Despite the fact that it has to do with Deadlock, he begrudgingly appreciates Misfire's polite and tactful rebuttal. It's appropriate.

"You might have a point," Krok relents reluctantly. His instincts still say to be wary of Deadlock, but the fact is that he can't rely on that right now. Not when everything is so _swapped._ "Maybe it's not him."

"It might be good just to keep your wits about you. Maybe First Aid really was just trying to agitate you, maybe he wasn't. Just know you can rely on me. I may not be a fighter, but I don't turn my back on those who need me," Overlord promises. 

"Feels a bit odd to say this, but thank you, Overlord." Krok nods. "That means a lot."

"And I appreciate your consultation with me," Misfire adds in quietly. "For now, I think we should keep it to ourselves. There's enough confusion as it is anyway."

"That's fair." Krok would honestly probably make a similar choice anyway if it had to do with his own personal crew. "Suppose right now I should help with acquiring supplies?"

"Come on." Overlord places his hand onto Krok's shoulder. "I'll take you to Tarn and we'll see if he can help with that."

That much Krok thinks he can count on.


	3. Through a Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scavenging attempt goes awry, causing Krok to see familiar faces but quickly realize how far from home he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER: THREE - "Through a Looking Glass"  
> CONTINUITY: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
> RATING: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore. Do expect canon-level of gore throughout this story.  
> SUMMARY: Krok and the mirrored Scavengers hunt for clues at the Circle of Light. It ends about as well as you'd expect.  
> DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and I love the hecky out of Shattered Glass.
> 
> NOTE: This story has been proofread by many people, including my friends Mindy and Ty. Thank you both for all of your feedback; it would not be what it is without either of you. I also want to acknowledge evilcleverdog on tumblr for your brilliant idea for the Shattered Glass variations of the DJD and letting me use your idea. Thank you Owen for your art banner as well. If I've forgotten to thank anyone, please let me know! You deserve recognition.

There isn't much time that they can spend to waste. He needs to find a way back to his universe, no matter the cost. Confirming his identity to the crew that, yes, he is a different Krok from a different universe has obviously yielded responses that have been clearly mixed, ranging from Fulcrum rage to Crankcase acceptance. Ultimately, the only one with a real scowl on his face about it obviously seems to be Fulcrum, who has his arms folded and looks generally very unimpressed with the situation, doing his best to avoid the historian. 

Fine with Krok. 

An hour passes by, and some stock has been accumulated. A restock on energon and some medical supplies to get them by, but when weapons and ammo were requested, Tarn gave Krok a confused look. Right, he's a pacifist in this universe. 

Most importantly, Overlord has constructed another saganical scanner, giving it Spinister to utilize if needed. At the very least, it might give them some ability to track down who or what caused the situation and maybe find the next step in answers. Still, Krok finds himself regretful of the idea that he'd be parting ways with Overlord. The scientist stated that he didn't really see eye-to-eye with the Scavengers' methods, and that he was needed in a rescue mission closer to Starscream's current position.

So Krok is left with Misfire and the others.

As the hour for restocking and preparing has gone by, it's time for them to depart and meet with the Circle of Light. While Misfire smoothly places his datapad into Krok's hands, the announcement seems to be taken fairly well. It earns a very excited fist-pump from Spinister with Crankcase musing if they have enough shanix to go there -- a comment that Krok isn't sure he gets -- while Deadlock elbows Fulcrum roughly in the side. In return, Fulcrum snorts and elbows him back.

The general behavior from the team does make Krok pause for a moment. Now might be a good time to take some mental notes in regards to their actions and personalities. He has to treat them as strangers, as completely different people, even if they share the same faces and names as his own crew. To start with, Fulcrum and Deadlock in this universe are chummy as hell, which is a big change to what he knows about Fulcrum in his own dimension. After all, he doubts that Fulcrum really had a meaningful relationship with him there. Crankcase is perpetually cheery and full of sunshine and Spinister seems to be his own brand of energy but something about all of it just doesn't feel right to Krok and he can't shake that thought away. 

Krok looks over the ship as they stand outside, prepared for their leave. "All right. So we'll head off to the Circle of Light. Should we expect any trouble?" 

Fulcrum folds his arms. "I'm hoping so."

"Chances are, as long as we have sufficient funds, there will be no issues." Misfire peers at Fulcrum. "Try to not start a barfight this time."

"Funsucker."

As they finally leave the headquarters of Tarn and the rest of his division, Krok finds himself stuck having to follow Misfire around. It's a strange position to be in. Usually, he has to practically shepherd his crew and keep tabs on them and make sure they aren't running off doing something foolish. In normal circumstances, he's the one up in everyone's business, but right now he feels more lost and more like he's the one being guarded.

Frankly, Krok isn't too sure he's fond of that thought.

Not far off from the D.J.D. HQ, he sees it, their unusually well taken care of ship. The W.A.P.--

"Suppose since you're technically the new guy now, you deserve a formal introduction: Welcome to the Strong Self-Sampling Assumption," Deadlock says with a grin. "Or as I like to call it, the SSSA!"

"Not the S.S.S.A," Krok repeats flatly. "You pronounce--"

"All the sss, yeah. Like it sizzles almost."

Krok puts his hands on his hips and just grunts out, "Okay." So it's not the Weak Anthropic Principle.

After stepping inside, he watches Crankcase immediately taking his seat at the front. Not far from their pilot are two rows of seats aligned against each wall with belts to keep them secure. So, Krok sits and works on buckling himself in. To his relief, Misfire sits to his right and Spinister to his left. Less to his relief, Fulcrum sits directly across from him and Deadlock next to the violent Decepticon. That leaves at least one extra seat.

Huh.

"Are we missing anyone?" Krok asks warily, inclined with his head.

That seems to earn an awkward round of silence and Fulcrum making a face before turning his head away sharply. Deadlock props his chin into his hand and makes a weary sound.

"'Fraid not, Captain," Crankcase responds, sounding a bit dismal. "This is all of us."

The reaction in general makes him thoughtful, but Krok isn't about to make any assumptions. Maybe some various conclusions, but it seems like this crew's suffered a loss already based on their behavior. Briefly, he wonders if maybe Flywheels is doomed here too. The thought makes him feel like something inside of his frame wrenches unnaturally, and Krok hopes he's wrong. Maybe Flywheels is safe in this universe somewhere, happy wherever he is. Doubtful, but it's a nice thought.

In any case, he'd like to ask, but he isn't about to make this any more awkward. Maybe he can get information from Misfire later, who is able to give the facts bluntly.

They sit in silence for a moment. The engines of the S.S.S.A. purr to life, smoother sounding than the guttural hiccups of the W.A.P.

Right. He's killed the conversation. Might as well try to revive it. Krok glances at Spinister. "So I understand you get a lot of information from the Circle of Light. What's your take on them?" 

Perking right up, Spinister beams and says with his optics practically glimmering with excitement, "Oh, it's a great place full of interesting people! It's so much fun going there and there are games and they serve really great energon and sure it's expensive but it's awesome!"

"They kicked you out at least ten times, Spin," Crankcase points out from his pilot seat.

Spinister's shoulders slump and he sighs, "Yeah, I guess they have."

"You?" Krok asks in disbelief. This version of Spinister, getting in trouble?

"That's hardly anything," Fulcrum muses, calmly taking out a cy-gar. "They've booted me at least fifty times."

"Fifty-four," Deadlock offers with a sharp grin.

Fulcrum chuckles lowly as he clamps the cy-gar in his teeth, as if proud of such an achievement. "In any case, that was generally the Autobots' fault on your behalf, Spin."

"I'm still stuck on the part with Spinister getting kicked out of anywhere," Krok openly admits, narrowing his optics. If it was his version's Spinister, maybe; he's paranoid enough to have shot something or someone in any given location, but this one that he's sitting next to? He seems like a decent doctor much like his own Spinister, but otherwise? He comes off as a fool.

"Spinister is wanted dead or alive by the Autobot army," Misfire informs Krok. "Granted, people like Megatron or Starscream are top priority, but then there are others like Spinister and Fulcrum. Even before we were assembled into a team, the Autobots had their sights set on both of them. That list grew over time, of course."

This version of Fulcrum? He'll give that much. He can see the Autobots wanting him dead for how battle intensive he is. But Spinister?

Krok looks at Spinister. Spinister waves to him cheerfully.

"You're serious," Krok says flatly.

"I'm always serious," Misfire responds.

"Of course you are."

"But anyway! Me getting kicked out of places aside." Spinister claps his hands together once to catch Krok's attention again. "So the place is run by Dai Atlas. He's kind of a giant guy, like... like Tarn-sized, I guess. Only he's not really as nice as Tarn. Actually, he's kind of a jerk! Haha!"

"They've been making deals during the war on both sides. If you pay them enough, they'll offer information or aid in some way without actually being directly involved," Misfire offers a more professional perspective. "Begrudgingly, there isn't much for Megatron to do about them. I suppose Prime keeps them around because they can be unpredictable, a nature he seems to enjoy."

Krok isn't sure what else to interpret. He's never met the Dai Atlas of his home universe, or anyone from the Circle of Light, but the description doesn't quite match what he knows. What a shock, considering how his day's been going. Reluctantly, he asks Deadlock, "Your thoughts?"

"The waitstaff's worth it," Deadlock answers with a short laugh.

"Hands to yourself, bub," Fulcrum snorts at him, elbowing Deadlock in the side.

"Aw, don't get jealous! I only have room for one looney person in my ember, anyhow."

"We're gonna have a look inside in just a few, Krok!" Crankcase assures in what's still an unnaturally cheerful voice to Krok. "Have a gander!"

The S.S.S.A. does move quickly, that much Krok is willing to admit. It seems to be a smooth flying ship, and a fast one at that. Turning his head to glance out the window, he can see most of the war ravaged planet. There was a time in which his own brand of Cybertron did not look much different: burning, almost neverending fires, destroyed buildings, and flashes of gunfire in the streets. It never seemed like it was going to be over. Here, it's still ongoing.

Krok does not envy that.

The tower that seems almost untouched is clear: it's one of the few buildings with lights, and several of them to the point of looking gaudy. Scrawled in neon, glowingwriting on the side of the location determines where they are. It's labeled as The Circle of Light.

That's one way to advertise.

"Hello! This is Crankcase of the S.S.S.A., coming in with the rest of the Scavengers," Crankcase informs over a transmission. "Permission to land?"

A voice calmly answers that Krok doesn't recognize. Something about it doesn't quite sit right with him, and immediately Krok doesn't like whoever it belongs to. "Crankcase. Has it really been only three months since you and your crew last graced us with your presence? I can only imagine why you're here. Allow me some time to speak with Dai Atlas, then I will reach you again." 

"Awfully polite for someone who's had to kick at least one of you out so many times," Krok notes, rubbing his chin. 

"Axe is kinda always like that," Deadlock interjects. "Says one thing, means another, gets someone to shank you a little when you aren't looking -- all that good stuff."

"It's worth bearing in mind their behavior," Misfire replies. "Whether they'll let us land or not, either way it's suspicious."

"Well, let's be honest. They probably have about a hundred reasons to not let us land," Deadlock points out with a small laugh. Krok doesn't feel very amused.

Eventually, Axe's voice comes back on the line, "I've been given permission to allow you to land. I'll be there to greet you all, but Wing shall be the one to escort you." Deadlock lets out a heavy snort, which earns a glance from Krok.

"Thank you much!" Crankcase responds, still chipper.

Once they're off the radio, Krok addresses Deadlock, "What was that reaction about?"

"I don't think that's really any of your business," Fulcrum butts in with a rumble in his engine, narrowing his eyes fiercely.

"While I'm stuck with all of you and you're all stuck with me, I'm about ready to make it my business. Do I have anything I need to worry about?"

Almost playfully, Deadlock punches Fulcrum in the shoulder before he says to Krok, "What can I say! We have history. Wing confuses and enrages me. But he's kind of neat, too. Can't stand it. I promise I won't go all stabby on him while we're there." 

Although Deadlock says he'll behave, Krok still doesn't quite feel like he can put his trust into him. It's habitual, all things considered. He knows what Misfire said about him, but honestly he's waiting for the moment when Deadlock betrays them. For now, he'll just have to swallow this. So, he says, "Good." Krok folds his arms. "I'm not interested in trouble."

"And thank you for being so protective of me, Puddin'," Deadlock says mockingly, pinching Fulcrum's chin.

"Knock it off," Fulcrum growls, swatting his hand.

Smoother than the W.A.P. ever had been, the S.S.S.A. moves closer to the Circle of Light tower. There's a landing bay, open and prepared for them. Interestingly, there doesn't appear to be any kind of fighting nearby, but as they get closer, Krok can see several guards waiting for them. It's about what he expects of them, based on what he's heard of the Circle of Light of his own universe. They have an elegant kind of build, but the way the most of them walk makes them seem like thugs. Waiting for them at the landing bay is a large Cybertronian with his hands folded in front of him; a large axe is equipped to his back, and Krok suspects he can conclude who it is.

As soon as the engine starts to power down after they land, Krok works the buckle off and trails after Misfire to exit the aircraft. The way everyone arranges themselves, just like before, it's to crowd Krok and keep them in the middle of it. It takes him off guard again and Krok gives a low grunt of confusion. 

"Axe," Misfire greets flatly.

"Misfire," the large jet greets the smaller one, red optics subdued and observing. "It seems this is everyone. The entire crew, then?" There's a pause, then Axe glances down, his optics locking with Krok's. There's a moment in which Axe is looking over him, as if he's evaluating Krok thoroughly before simply nodding. "Captain," Axe greets.

Unsure of what else to really say, Krok gives an indifferent nod.

Approaching is another one of them. Just like Axe, the frame is constructed in curves and finials, but this one walks with a swagger, downright egotistical and nothing refined about him. He's cocky. Krok already doesn't like him, and it seems like most of the rest of his(?) crew agrees in some way. Spinister seems indifferent, but Crankcase folds his arms and Misfire narrows his eyes. As if Fulcrum isn't hostile enough, he looks at Wing with a certain air of fury he hasn't quite gotten from him before. Despite Deadlock's earlier behavior, he just keeps his eyes off of Wing and absently picks at his teeth.

"Lady and gents," he greets, and the sleaze practically oozes off of him that it almost distracts Krok from the confusing terminology. "I'll take you all inside now."

"Thank you, Wing," Misfire says stiffly, forcing himself to say the words.

So, that's him. Figures.

The group starts moving again. Krok takes the moment to lean in and whisper to Spinister, "Lady and gents?"

"Yeah, Crankcase is a she," Spinister muses. "You didn't notice?"

"Her?" Whatever. What the hell does it really matter? "We don't really have... she and her where I'm from."

"Huh. Go figure." Spinister lets out a soft laugh, which is the most sincere one he's made since Krok has heard him giggle constantly being here. "I guess it's not a big deal either way, but that's just how it's kind of always been here."

All Krok can do is really shrug at the topic. Everything else has been kind of an unusual thing, and this is fairly minor in the grand scheme of things. It's more the personality than anything else from Crankcase and the others that's jarring. 

They step inside the building, and it's not exactly what Krok expects. Not that, he supposes, he had many expectations.

There are several gaudy and decorative lights flashing inside, lining up the walls in some bizarre pattern before blinking and cycling to a different set. The floor tiles glow in brilliant colors, and through that Krok can practically feel the vibrations of the awful noise that's thrumming throughout the room. Is that music? Krok winces and covers an auditory reciptor with one hand. Cripes.

In the middle of the room is apparently a dance floor, which many of the other potential members or employees or whatever of this place are at, moving lazily to the beat. Surrounding them on a different floor level are several machines that other Cybertronians are seated at, playing some sort of games.

Ah. All right. This is a casino and a... dance club?

Because that makes sense in the middle of a war. Krok snorts.

Wing shoves open a pair of doors, spreading out his wings almost dramatically as they head down a long hallway. Fortunately, the further they go down, the quieter the music is.

It also means the closer they get to Dai Atlas. That much Krok can see at the end of the hall; he's seated on some ugly throne composed of glimmering crystals that glow in various colors, as well as polished metal carved intricately. Nothing about it comes off as stylish. Not that Krok is the most fashionable of Cybertronians, even before the war; he's practical minded, and this? This is so far away from practical. The way Dai Atlas himself sits, he comes off as bored, his cheek resting against his fist as he peers into his screens displaying the interior of his building.

"Boss," Wing greets him.

"I think you can imagine how surprised I am at this turn of events," Dai Atlas muses to Wing. Leaning forward a little bit from his previous position, he smooths a hand over a container before shoving off the top, revealing its contents.

Most often, people simply keep shanix in terms of credits in an account. Krok himself used to have one until it was easier to pick and scavenge. Here, Dai Atlas clearly has it physically in polished coins. Mostly to show off, undoubtedly.

"Did Axe have anything to say about this? Anything his little birds have mentioned?" Dai Atlas wonders.

Wing shrugs. "Nothing that's changed in the last hour."

"Mm. Guard the door," Dai Atlas instructs Wing, who immediately obeys. "Let me have a look at you, Krok."

Unexpectedly, Fulcrum shifts to shove himself in front, wordlessly snarling at Dai Atlas. The behavior surprises him; Krok initially got the feeling that Fulcrum didn't particularly care for him.

"I'm not impressed by your guard dog." Dai Atlas picks up a single coin, rolling his thumb over it. "Or the other ones."

"It's fine," Krok grunts. "Fulcrum."

Fulcrum snorts and takes a step to the side. "Whatever," he growls.

No matter how uncertain he's been in the past about confronting people larger than himself, Krok's faced it anyway. He's not especially tall or strong, but he likes to think he's plenty skilled enough at least to know how to survive and bluff his way out of things if needed. Here, he isn't sure what to anticipate, but Krok steps forward to get closer to Dai Atlas and looks at him right in the optics.

Slowly, Dai Atlas adjusts his position so that he leans in from his throne. "I said let me have a look at you."

Abruptly, his large hand comes down and settles on top of Krok's head. The palm and fingers are large enough to almost completely cover him, and the hand closes suddenly to lift up Krok. A startled noise is squeezed out and he reaches up, grabbing Dai Atlas by the wrist, as if he could somehow claw it off. He hears Fulcrum curse him out, and several weapons ready behind him. Guns and at least one sword are drawn from the way it sounds.

Yet Dai Atlas does not become violent. He merely looks down at Krok, then lets out a low rumbling laugh. "You've never seen me before in your life," he concludes, carefully putting Krok down onto his feet. "Yes. Very surprising indeed."

Cautiously, Krok looks just barely over his shoulder, and his optics widen in surprise at what he sees: the entire crew has their weapons out, completely prepared to fire upon Dai Atlas if the scene turned out badly. In his arms, Misfire has two pistols in his hands and a deep scowl on his face and next to him Fulcrum has a feral snarl that looks on par with Grimlock's angriest moments. Almost ridiculously disproportionate for her size, Crankcase cradles a bazooka (where the hell was she hiding that anyway) and one very large handgun in Spinister's hand. Still as cocky as ever, Deadlock holds a pair of swords; out of everyone, he's the only one that doesn't look angry or worried.

"You can put those away," Dai Atlas informs the crew. "Surprising how quick they are to stand up for you, even if you aren't really their captain."

"Hmm." Misfire hesitantly lowers his rifle, glaring in suspicion. "You already knew."

"I do. I've known your real captain for a long time, Misfire." Dai Atlas toys with the shanix coin in his hand. "I've known everyone for a long time. And now you're here looking for answers. What are you looking for, Krok? A way home?" He tilts his head, wearing a complacent expression. "Of all the things I can offer anyone, that's beyond my ability." 

"I want to be pointed in the right direction. You don't have to do anything else other than that." Krok does his best to not look off his game. After all, being lifted up by just his head by someone much larger than him has admittedly shaken him, but there's no time to dwell on that. "I'm under the impression that this might have been deliberate." He isn't about to bring up the aspect that there just might be a traitor among them. Not in front of the rest of the crew. 

"Ah." Another low laugh emits freely from Dai Atlas. "Information. Well, that's something I just might be able to help with. Though it may come with a price. If I tell you, I put a very valuable client at risk. But I am indebted to your crew's consistent rounds of entertainment that you've all given me."

Misfire folds his arms behind himself, speaking as politely as he can bear to bring himself it seems: "If it's money you want, we have it."

"I'll decide whether or not I'll inform you. Then we can talk about such arrangements, if it comes to that." The coin that Dai Atlas has been holding is held up, as if to make a point. "I think I'll flip for it. Heads, the secret is mine and I'll bring my guards in to ... escort you back to your ship. Tails, I'll tell you for a price. Fair?" 

"How about I just beat it out of you?" Fulcrum growls.

Spinister gently settles a hand to Fulcrum's shoulder. It isn't shrugged off. "I'm game!" he offers excitedly. "Krok, I think we should go for it. I mean, it's a fifty-fifty shot! Pretty good odds for guys like us."

"It's up to you," is all Misfire has to offer Krok. "I'll stand by your choice."

Hell of a choice, Krok thinks to himself. Luck has never really been on his side much, and if this was his usual crew of endearing fools, he might be tempted to just back out if it was possible. But this isn't his crew, and this isn't normal. Krok isn't comfortable with the idea of potentially wasting their lives. They didn't have to, but they were prepared to leap in and protect him from Dai Atlas even though they know perfectly well that he isn't their captain. He thinks that, maybe, if it comes to a fight? 

Maybe they'd actually stand a chance.

"I accept," Krok replies.

"I appreciate your sense of fun," Dai Atlas remarks, a smirk creeping onto his face. 

It's a tense moment as they observe and wait for Dai Atlas. After a completely silent minute rolls by, the coin is finally flipped. Once it hits the floor, it seems to ring loudly in the enormous room; it rolls on its side, turning in a circle before it finally tips over.

"Tails it is," Dai Atlas acknowledges, but Krok doesn't feel relieved yet. "Your price: one of mine and one of yours will duel. Whoever wins is irrelevant, but it needs to be a good fight. I want a show. Give it to me. Once the fight is finished, then I'll give you the information that you seek. Pick your champion."

"Nose goes," Deadlock says immediately, pressing his finger onto his own nose.

Krok gives him a strange look before addressing the rest of the crew. "I won't force any of you to battle for me, anyway. I'll fight myself."

"Bit late for that," Fulcrum points out, snorting. "But I'm the best you got, so I'll--"

"Nose goes!" Deadlock repeats, pressing his other finger to Fulcrum's nose.

"That doesn't count, you idiot!" Fulcrum barks at him, swatting at Deadlock's hands.

Misfire tilts his head. "While I have confidence Fulcrum would win against whoever Dai Atlas would send against us, I doubt this entire floor would survive it either. He has no restraint. I suggest someone with a little more control."

"I control myself just fine!" Fulcrum snaps at him, growling as he still keeps slapping away Deadlock's hands. Eventually, he just punches the red-plated Decepticon in the shoulder, hard enough to dent it.

Continuing as if Fulcrum hadn't said a thing, Misfire says, "In any case, we all feel the same way. There is no problem stepping up and defending you if we must. You aren't our captain; we know that. But I don't think it's unnatural to want to assist you."

"Yer Krok and we're gonna care about ya, even if you act a li'l bit different and all that." Crankcase smiles sweetly. "Don't worry about it."

At first, Krok isn't sure what to think of that. Even knowing that he isn't their leader, they're stepping up to defend him anyway. And for what? He isn't sure what they even have to gain. With some consideration, he thinks maybe he understands: he doesn't desire any harm to come to them, even though they aren't technically his crew either. So regardless of how this weird universal thing works, there seem to be a few constants that have not changed. Krok still feels inherently protective of them, and they are inherently loyal to him.

He can appreciate that some things don't change.

"Any ideas, then?" Krok asks them.

"Oo, ooo!" Spinister holds up his hand. "Pick me, Captain! I wanna do it, I really wanna do it."

There's some hesitation. He's never actually seen this version of Spinister fight yet. Poorly pilot a ship maybe, but he wasn't actually in battle. Krok frowns in thought. Would Spinister be capable of holding his own in a duel?

He glances at Misfire. "Your input?"

"It's not a poor choice," Misfire assures him. "But I stand ready if you need me to fill in as well."

"If you're confident he can, then I'll let him," Krok pauses, then turns to the tall medic. "If you think you can. You can still back down."

"No way, sir! I'm on it, sir!" Spinister gives a jolly salute to Krok. "You can trust me! We gotta do what we can to get you home!"

"Wing, bring in Outrigger," Dai Atlas commands, calmly starting to input some commands to his nearby console. "Have Axe make the announcement."

"It'll be done," Wing responds, nodding once before he turns makes his exit.

Clapping her hands over Spinister's, Crankcase gives him a giant sincere smile. "You can do it, Spin! I just know you can."

"Shucks, Cranky, you always know what to say." Spinister beams back at her.

After sharply swatting his shoulder, Fulcrum grumbles, "Watch yourself, moron."

There's a pause, then Spinister rests his hand on Fulcrum's arm. When he speaks this time, his tone is lower and a little less peppy than usual. "It's gonna be okay, Fulcrum." Silently, Fulcrum pulls his arm from the grip and looks away, his expression appearing just frustrated.

Echoing out of speakers in the room is Axe's voice, calmly announcing: "Good evening to our residents, consumers, and esteemed guests of the Circle of Light. We have a surprise event at our hands. A duel will be commencing in the next five minutes. The chosen champion to represent Dai Atlas is one of our own. Outrigger, from the infamous bowels of Dead End. Opposing him is Spinister of Crystal City, an outlaw since from even before the war began. We encourage you to make your wagers on who will be victorious."

There's a brief pause, which Axe takes advantage of as he leans in towards Dai Atlas. "Thoughts on who the victor will be, my lord?" Axe asks, his tone entirely conversational.

Dai Atlas chuckles and leans back in his throne, folding his fingers together. "The winner is far less important to me than the show I'm going to get, Axe. You should know that by now."

The doors swing open and Wing returns with another Cybertronian following him. A neutral, and presumably this is the one named Outrigger. There's a certain unhinged look in Outrigger's blazing red optics and broad smile. The expression reminds him a little of this universe's version of Fulcrum, but less sane.

Krok's starting to wonder if his choice has been a good one.

"The rules are simple," Dai Atlas explains. "Everything goes. Death is acceptable, but not required. Simple enough, I should think."

"Yep." Smoothly, Outrigger pulls out two short blades, twisting them in a way that causes them to power on. Flame-like energy races up and down the edges of the weapons, glowing fiercely and hot.

"Man oh man, those look sharp!" Spinister lets out a nervous sounding laugh. "Try not to stab yourself with 'em, okay? I mean it, they look dangerous, friend!"

"You should be more worried about yourself," Outrigger hisses. "And I certainly ain't your friend."

"Begin!" Dai Atlas commands.

For all of his years in war, Krok has seen many things. He's seen different ways of battle. Soldiers with swords, dashing and quick on their feet. Powerful Monstercons rampaging through the field, tearing into their foes. The examples are numerous. Here, it's a match, a duel for mere information. It's not like war, but clearly Outrigger isn't holding back. He's coming in quickly, insanely fast as he twirls and slashes at Spinister.

Spinister, who lets out a fearful shriek and bends back to avoid the slash, showing an impressive bout of flexibility. "Careful! Holy scrap is your sword on fire?" He moves around to avoid another strike, the blades just missing by a hair. "Isn't that a bit much?!" 

"Less talk, more fight!" Outrigger demands.

At every stab that Outrigger makes, it almost lands home, yet Spinister somehow manages to let out a theatrical yet incredibly wimpy sounding yell all the while dodging at the last second. By the looks of it, Outrigger is completely on the offense, and Spinister hasn't returned a single blow yet. It's almost anxiety inducing to watch. Krok is starting to really regret his choice. Cautiously, he glances at the rest of his stand-in crew gauge their reactions and get a better sense of how the fight goes. 

Misfire projects a sense of calm and confidence, his arms folded behind his back. If there's any worry in his frame, it's very well masked. Krok has no idea what might be going on in Misfire's head, but he does make it clear that he has investment in his crew. Crankcase is shouting to Spinister, cheering him on and assuring him how great he's doing, practically screaming encouragement. Deadlock seems the most indifferent to the situation, whistling as he tries to punch out the dent in his arm that Fulcrum had made in him earlier. Speaking of Fulcrum, he looks the most aggravated, his arms folded angrily as he looks on. Krok wonders if he's merely upset that he wasn't chosen for the battle, but immediately discards that idea; in his own way, Fulcrum's shown concern for his teammates. He may very well be concerned for Spinister's sake.

Krok knows for himself, he's definitely worried. He's really regretting his choice. By all appearances, this fight is not going favorably for Spinister.

Appearances. Speking of appearances. Krok rubs his chin and returns his attention to the duel at hand as Spinister seemingly panics and shrieks and evades every attack that Outrigger has to offer, despite the impressive skill that Outrigger obviously has. Outrigger is smooth and graceful in how he swings his blades, obviously well practiced in killing. Hell, Krok despises to think so, but it's almost downright artistic in how Outrigger moves. 

Then, there's Spinister. The more Krok watches him, it occurs to him that there's nothing clumsy at all about how Spinister moves. With every dodge that Spinister takes, his footwork is utter perfection, like he's making a dance out of this. All the while, Spinister hasn't drawn his optics off of his opponent even once, watching and even predicting how Outrigger is going to try to attack him next with a slash or a stab. Even as Spinister shrills like a cornered turbofox, it only seems to frustrate Outrigger more than anything else so it's plausible that the noise factor might even just be a distraction.

Letting out a frustrated snarl, Outrigger continues to advance on Spinister before finally leaping at him to try to corner him. A hysterical yelp emits from Spinister, and he leaps back, planting his feet against the wall of the room before launching himself from it. It allows him to effectively leaping over Outrigger, causing his opponent to nearly crash into the wall.

All in all, they're evenly matched, even if Spinister hasn't even struck back yet. He ducks and he twists, making it as dramatic as possible, but Spinister knows exactly what he's doing.

He considers further. Up to this point, Spinister always seemed to come off as obnoxiously cheerful. Crankcase's optimistic appearance is clearly honest and she means everything she says. Spinister, on the other hand, seems to force it in comparison. 

As Misfire implied, has great restraint. But over what, Krok still hasn't figured out yet.

"Just-- hold still!" Outrigger shouts.

"What, hold still and let you shank me? Are you serious? Who the hell would even do that!" Spinister leans back suddenly as Outrigger tries to stab him again. Grabbing onto one of Outrigger's wrists, the Decepticon medic kicks sharply with the toe of his foot, hitting one of the blades out of the crazed fighter's hand, causing it to fly out and sink into a nearby wall.

"Smelt, I guess I gotta give that a 9.5," Deadlock muses in the back, whistling.

Twisting his arm out of Spinister's grip, Outrigger snarls and lashes out at him. "You're dead!"

"Haha, nope! No, I like being alive!" Spinister ducks down sharply before elbowing Outrigger in the forehead twice. Grabbing onto his blade-wielding hand, he twists it sharply, just loudly enough for there to be a distinct snap of something before the limb goes limp. "Don't you?"

"What the--" Outrigger tries to move his arm, but completely fails. "What the hell did you do?!"

Spinister rubs the back of his head with one hand. "Aw, not much. Just overstrained your primary cabling connecting your arm to your shoulder! It'll repair on its own, I promise. Anyway." With his other hand, he brings out his pistol and points it at Outrigger's forehead. "Looks like I kinda win this one! Right?"

A slow clap fills the air, and after turning his head to check, Krok can see that it belongs to Dai Atlas. "Your antics never fail to amuse, Doctor."

Letting out a tiny laugh, Spinister twirls his gun on his finger before he slides it back to his containment plating. "Thanks, Dai Atlas!" Turning to face the lord of the Circle of Light, Spinister continues with, "Can we have that information now? Pretty pl--"

"This isn't over!" Outrigger roars, launching himself at the medic with a blade sliding out of his wirst.

Everything moves quickly. Spinister turns; despite how fast he is, he doesn't seem quick enough to dodge Outrigger this time. Which doesn't matter, because Misfire is throwing his weight into the medic and shoving him aside. In turn, it causes the blade to sink into his shoulder.

A sword rests at Outrigger's neck, and Wing now stands behind him. "Take it out," Wing instructs him.

Gritting his teeth and knowing he's truly lost, Outrigger drawing his only working arm back and the blade slides out from Misfire.

"There are two things you should understand. One: I don't suffer sore losers. When you've lost, you've lost. And two:..." With a quick, efficient swing of his sword, Wing cuts off Outrigger's head; it rolls to the floor and the rest of the body slumps down with it, claimed by gravity. "You're fired." 

The death doesn't strike Krok as odd. He's seen behaviors like this from Decepticons, but Spinister looks taken aback before he suddenly looks furious. "You didn't have to do that," the doctor snaps at Wing.

"On the contrary." Wing sheathes his sword. "If no one can follow the rules, then they aren't worth the time. Outrigger played his part. It's done now."

Spinister clenches his hands into fists, and he trembles. This isn't what Krok was expecting out of him, and it starts to sink in what differences there truly are. His version of Spinister wouldn't have cared. Krok personally doesn't, either. But this one, despite all of his skills, has a softer side to him. Not good to have in a war at all.

Swiftly, Misfire moves in, taking Spinister's wrist. "Come on. Leave it alone for now," he instructs him quietly.

There's a moment of hesitation, then Spinister's shoulders slump. "I'm sorry," Spinister whispers. "Let me patch you up."

"If you're done," Dai Atlas interrupts. "Then we'll give you what you've won."

The doors swing open again. This time, Axe enters the room, calm and indifferent, despite the obvious dead body in the room. Clearly not broken up over his former companion's death, Axe steps over the corpse and goes to stand next to Dai Atlas's throne. Turning, he addresses the crew while Spinister silently works on fixing Misfire's injury.

"First, I commend your fight. Our guests were very entertained." Detached, Axe slowly claps, his gesture echoing in the room. No one joins him. "Bravo. Your prize, then: as I understand it from my little birds, Krok was specifically targeted during your last mission. The one we provided you previous information on, I believe. The original intent was to completely remove him from existence. The Autobots fear and hate you and your crew. It would bring Optimus Prime great joy to see you gone."

"Then I doubt it was First Aid who would be behind something like that," Misfire muses to himself as Spinister works on welding his shoulder. "He relishes in maiming his victims."

Mildly offended at being interrupted, Axe exhales in subtle irritation through his nose. "Right. Something else interfered or there was a malfunction of some kind when your captain was attacked, which may be part of why this... _swap of Kroks_ occurred, as it were. There was a rifle used to shoot the original Krok." Axe reaches over to the console to type in a few commands in order to bring up some blurry imagery of the rifle in question. It, honestly, looks like any other weapon to Krok, but it's admittedly difficult to tell with the low quality images. "This was developed by an Autobot scientist, Brainstorm. His lab is located in Iacon, not terribly far from the Autobot headquarters."

"So if we find Brainstorm, closer chance to gettin' you home!" Crankcase tells Krok, smiling brightly. "Probably gettin' our captain back, too."

"Boy oh boy," Deadlock mutters.

Before Krok can remark on that behavior, Axe speaks up again: "There is one thing you should all know in regards to who shot the weapon at your captain, Scavengers. It was another Decepticon. Some have told me that it's even one of you."

Rust and glitches! Krok's hands curl into fists. So it seems that maybe First Aid wasn't just trying to get under his plating after all! Still, he'd hoped to conceal the possibility from the rest of the crew for awhile longer until he knew for sure. Krok glances at them, studying their reactions. The news clearly is unsettling to them. Though backstabbing isn't too unusual in the Decepticon army where he's from, by the reactions he's seeing he gets the feeling it's far less common here.

Misfire, who already knew it was a possibility, looks withdrawn and hollow for a moment as he processes the information. Someone who's been trying to act logically as he could is visibly struggling with the very real chance that someone in his own team has betrayed them. Next to him, there's a sudden stillness in Spinister, his hand gripping Misfire's upper arm tightly as the news shakes him to the core.

"This ain't true," Crankcase denies quietly, her optics wide and troubled. Her voice trembles a little as she shakes her head, viciously trying to deny the news. "Someone-- c'mon, that can't be true 'bout any of you. Someone please say something!"

Krok glances over to Fulcrum next. There's a mixed, furious expression on his face, his hands clutched in tight fists, then he lets out a furious snarl before punching a nearby wall, cracking it.

"I'll have to bill you for that," Dai Atlas comments smoothly, his expression still calmly smug.

"Shut the hell up!" Fulcrum roars at him. "Do you think I'm afraid of you?!"

"I'm not what you're scared of, clearly," Dai Atlas points out.

"C'mon," Deadlock says with a heavy exaggerated sigh. "Axe messed up on the bomb lead before. This is probably just some more bogus information, yeah? You're all getting worked up over nothing."

"Not. Not necessarily," Misfire says softly. "Krok?"

Pit. Krok rubs his forehead. "When First Aid was holding me, he told me there was a traitor. I didn't know what to think at the time, either."

"There is something else I need to share with you," Axe says, addressing Dai Atlas specifically.

"Wait a second," Fulcrum interrupts. "Who the hell tried to get Krok killed?! If it's true--"

"If I knew, I would share. After all, the duel was won fairly," Axe informs him. "Dai Atlas, I've received word of another guest arriving. He promises high payment for a moment of your time. And..."

Axe leans in, whispering something to Dai Atlas. For a moment, the lord and owner of the Circle of Light looks bored, then gradually his expression grows into an amused smile before he lets out a low chuckle.

"I love it," Dai Atlas answers him. "Show him in at once. I'd hate to make him wait."

"At once, my lord." Bowing his head politely, Axe calmly steps out of the room with Wing directly behind him.

Dai Atlas slumps back a little in his throne, getting comfortable once more. "The rest of you are welcome to take your time and get your bearings after such troubling news."

"Don't push it," Fulcrum seethes. "Or I'll tear you apart!"

"I would relish such entertainment," Dai Atlas answers with a laugh.

Deadlock gingerly loops his arm around Fulcrum's and tugs him away from launching more threats at Dai Atlas. "Let's take it easy, bub-darlin'. Emergency huddle time?"

"Not a bad idea," Crankcase agrees, gently nudging Krok close as they come to form a tight circle. Now this is terribly familiar. "What do y'all think?"

"It's hard to talk about this kind of thing. There's no real reasonable way to approach it and make a decision." Misfire frowns. "I don't know what to do. I wish I did."

"They're just full of exhaust fumes," Deadlock says. "I mean, c'mon, it's a basic trick. Get us all to think there's a traitor, get us all paranoid--"

"Then how do you explain what happened to your captain?" Krok points out, frowning.

"Could've been an Autobot. I dunno." Deadlock shrugs.

"I'm with Deadlock on this. Ain't a traitor in any of my team," Crankcase quickly agrees. "I mean, that makes sense, doesn't it? That they're just trying to mess us up?"

Krok sighs, feeling tired from all of this. Frankly, if he was ever told that one of his own betrayed him, he'd probably try to make similar denying statements. True, Decepticons all-too-frequently betray each other where he's from, but he likes to think that it wouldn't happen with his crew. He can understand the hope that it wouldn't happen here. He turns his head, watching this team. He can't not be empathetic with them.

"You all know Axe better than me. Would he have shared this information if he wasn't confident in it?" Krok asks.

"Usually he's a reliable source. Axe has informants all across Cybertron," Misfire responds, still looking troubled. "Although his unreliable tip from last time was unusual."

"Axe isn't infallible," Fulcrum says, still practically snarling. "He showed that much already."

"He did mention it came from multiple sources," Spinister murmurs, rubbing the back of his head. "But let me put it this way, guys: even if it might be true, this doesn't really change our goal, does it? We need to plan our next action. I don't really want to think about one of my friends like this."

Krok isn't sure he could do that. He feels angry on their behalf, but there was no way that even if there really is a betrayer among them that they would fess up. Shaking his head, he asks, "So what do we do next? Brainstorm's lab?"

"It's our next best lead right now," Misfire says, nodding. "We should try to do our best to not think about what Axe had to say. It'll just distract us."

"Not much else we can do at this point," Krok responds. "Look. I don't enjoy hearing this about any of you. Even... if you aren't mine."

Crankcase smiles brightly. "You got a good ember-- erm, spark. We'll manage, Krok. We always do."

"What good timing!" Dai Atlas calls out, pointedly doing so to interrupt the huddle. "Welcome!"

As Krok goes to see who the supposed new guest was, time seems to slow down. He feels himself go horribly stiff as he watches Axe and Wing walk behind the two Autobots escorted inside. 

"First Aid," Fulcrum hisses under his breath, his voice torn between rage and something else that Krok can't quite pin.

Krok turns his head slightly to look back to the others. It's Spinister who immediately gets his attention, his bright blue eyes looking troubled as he stares. His fingers twitch and he steps forward, whispering, "Whirl."

"Don't," Misfire tells him, taking Spinister by the wrist. "You know that won't end well."

A dismayed noise emits softly from Spinister before he turns his head away. "Right. Yeah."

"It's so good to see all of you again," First Aid greets, wiggling his fingers in greeting. Next to him, Whirl stands in a slouch, obediently remaining at his side. "Krok, you look healthier already!"

"Is there any reason why we should leave him alive?" Krok mutters to Misfire. 

"Dai Atlas tends to frown upon attacks on people who he gives an audience to, unless he agrees to it prior. By which I mean he'll probably kill us if we try to kill First Aid," Misfire replies regretfully in a whisper back. "I assure you, I would readily welcome his death, but he knows he's safe for now from us. Otherwise it wouldn't just be him and Whirl."

Figures. Krok gives a frustrated grunt before relenting. "Now's a good time to leave, then," he assumes.

"Ah, but why leave now when you haven't even heard what I was going to ask of Dai Atlas?" First Aid says with a small laugh. "Dai Atlas, I come with a humble sum, asking to hire the services of the Circle of Light."

Krok feels his frame tense up while Dai Atlas expresses interest. "I understand you're willing to pay," Dai Atlas acknowledges. "What do you need?"

"I need you to help me kill or capture Krok and his team," First Aid requests.

"Fascinating." Dai Atlas tents his fingers as he turns his gaze over to the Decepticons. "Can you outbid him?"

"What is he charging?" Misfire asks.

"500,000 shanix is the amount that he is offering to pay for your lives," Axe answers, folding his arms.

"Bah, that's chump change! We got like 600,000 to beat that!" Deadlock scoffs.

Axe holds up his hand to interrupt. "I'll clarify. 500,000 shanix for each Scavenger."

"Well! In that case." Deadlock pauses. In one smooth action, he takes out a cup and throws it on the ground, causing it to shatter to pieces before shouting: "Scatter!!"

"Where were you even keeping that?!" Spinister asks before they all start to bail towards the door.

As Krok quickly follows the rest of them, not eager to stick around. An entire building of trained mercenaries ready to throw them to the Autobots? No thank you. In any case, running away from battle feels a little more familiar to him.

Misfire slides out his sniper rifle just in case. "I'll stay in the back. Deadlock, Spinister. Take lead. Take Crankcase with you so she can start up the ship. Fulcrum, keep your eye on Krok."

"Yeah yeah! I heard you." Fulcrum glares at Misfire before looking at Krok. "Don't slow me down. Got it?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Krok replies flatly.

Hurrying ahead of them, the trio in front shove the doors open; Spinister, Deadlock, and Crankcase are clearly prepared to be on the offensive. As soon as the doors open and they make it into the main club, the music is still booming all too loudly, only now it's accompanied by the sure sights of warriors prepared to take them on. Members of the Circle of Light are already facing them, swords and other bladed weapons in hand. A few hold up rifles and shotguns as well, but most of them seem to favor swords.

"Ah ha, pointy things! I too have a pointy thing!" Deadlock brings out his two short swords.

Almost all at once, the weapons that the Circle of Light mercenaries carry become bright and fiery, powered up in blazing energy.

Groaning in dismay, Deadlock complains, "Ugh, that's so _sick!_ I want one! Or ten!"

"Focus, moron!" Fulcrum shouts at him.

While Deadlock has every intention of attacking, very quickly he finds himself playing defensive, grunting as he blocks the hard swipes from a pair of Circle of Light mercenaries. The attacks aren't too much for him to bear -- yet. Gritting his teeth, Deadlock shoves them back, swinging his blades down to slice the back of their legs in order to slow down their movement, but otherwise he's worming around to try to dodge them. 

Much more somber than before, Spinister quietly dodges and shoots as he goes. There are no more theatrics and playful yelling, but rather he focuses more at the task on hand to make sure Crankcase gets to the S.S.S.A. Curiously, all of Spinister's shots lack fatality, but damage mercenaries enough to slow them down. Behind them, Krok can hear Misfire shooting with deadly accuracy, the occasional mercenary dropping dead to the floor.

On his own, Krok keeps to the basics. He shoots when he has an opening, then ducks down behind cover when he needs to. He isn't the best fighter, but certainly not the worst. At the moment, he's more interested in surviving than he is showing off, and show-offs just end up dead anyway. 

Speaking of show-offs, he stares as Fulcrum lifts up a table and throws it into a crowd of warriors, laughing at them. "Go ahead and shoot. You're dead if you do!" he promises before throwing a grenade their way. A few seconds later, and it goes in a fiery explosion. 

"Krok, everyone -- stay down," Misfire commands over their radio link.

Taking caution even to that, Fulcrum ducks down next to Krok. A bright blue blast of energy is shot from Misfire's direction, exploding into the room and sending out some sort of electrical signal. It races through the room, crawling over most of the firearms present being used by the Circle of Light warriors. 

Firearms that, suddenly, aren't working.

"What in the--" Krok squints. "Was that some kind of EMP blast?"

"Nice conclusion, genius. Why the hell else do you think everyone calls him Misfire?" Fulcrum points out with a growl.

Krok shoots him a look over his shoulder, then shakes his head. Not worth getting into right now, but it does put things into perspective as to why it makes sense here. 

He stands up and moves forward again, and Fulcrum surges into the fight once more like some kind of wild animal and tearing into the closest mercenary that opposes him. At the very least, he provides a pretty decent cover and it doesn't hurt that it seems like some of their enemies are a bit wary about fighting him.

Abruptly, Spinister looks distracted, his head turning towards the Decepticon historian. "Krok!"

Something rolls close to his feet and Krok glances down.

Oh. That's definitely an explosive.

Everything seems to slow down. As Spinister tries to reach him, he's quickly interrupted with a sword impaling him from behind, coming out from the front of his abdomen. A surge of protectiveness rushes through Krok as he wants to reach the surgeon, but at the same time he has to scramble to get away from the incoming explosion. All too soon, it's quickly too late. Krok feels the force of it throw him off of his feet, the sheer power of it enough to send him smashing through the window. The last look he has of the fight in the club is of Fulcrum's face, looking shocked and surprisingly worried.

As he falls from the tall, tall building, Krok tries to think of something. Maybe Crankcase will make it to the ship fast enough, maybe Spinister is actually fine and can come rescue him, maybe Misfire is fast enough--

But the further he falls, the more doubtful he becomes and the more panic rises. He's just Krok, he's just a monoformer, he can't fly, all he can do is fall and crash into the ground below and no one is going to save him. His spark casing almost feels like it's cringing and he doesn't have the strength to shut off his optics from the quickly approaching ground below.

He hears rocket engines, and Krok strains to look up and see what it is.

A very familiar looking missile, aiming for him. Briefly, Krok thinks that it's kind of overkill and that people must really want him dead, but then he remembers just as he sees it transform.

It's Fulcrum.

Boosters on his back continue to send him closer to Krok until he throws his arms around the Decepticon leader's midsection. "Hold on!" Fulcrum shouts at him. "And brace yourself!"

Wordlessly, Krok hooks his fingers into plating and clings on as Fulcrum propels himself, curving their fall just enough. The speed doesn't change; they're going fast, far too fast, and the boosters on Fulcrum's back doesn't slow them down at all, but at least they aren't aiming for the ground anymore. Instead, the angle's changing, and now they're careening horizontally.

The boosters shut off, and Krok's optics widen as he sees they're about to smash into a pitiful looking building.

"Fulcrum! Fulcrum, wait--" Krok starts.

It's too late. They smash through the wall with Fulcrum taking most of the blow. They land and slide against the floor, the pair of them rolling. It's due to Fulcrum's powerful, protective hold on Krok that he himself receives so little damage, but he can hear them skid and sees sparks fly as they go.

They only stop at the second wall when they finally crash against it.

For the most part, Krok feels fine. Dizzied, yes, most definitely. A little dinged up at worst. Shockingly, he's not hurt beyond that. Prying Fulcrum's arms off of him, he sits back and looks over his apparent savior.

Plating is smashed in and peeled and scraped to hell. One optic's protective lense is shattered, and he's missing most of his left leg.

Slowly, Fulcrum peers down at himself, then dusts off an arm. "Feh. Been through worse."

"You're a damned fool," Krok hisses at him. "Hell, all of you are. I'm not even yours, and all of you are risking this nonsense for me. You, especially, have no business doing something so stupid for me."

Fulcrum frowns and looks away. Instead of snapping back at Krok or giving him an annoyed look, he just appears aloof this time. "Yeah, but I do the stupid thing pretty well. Look, if you really want to lecture me, can we do this while we're on the move? I'm pretty sure either the Autobots or Dai Atlas's mercs are going to try to pick us off and while I'm confident I can kill all of them, I can't guarantee your aft is safe now."

Arrogant idiot! For a moment, Krok is silent as he scowls at Fulcrum, then he lets out a sigh and grabs Fulcrum's wrist roughly and helps him up, slinging an arm over his shoulders. Fulcrum struggles to not limp, not wanting to rely on Krok at all.

"Let me help you," Krok orders him, annoyed. "You have only one leg!"

Fulcrum peers down at him before looking down at himself, as if the fact that his leg had torn off didn't even occur to him. He relents with a huff. "Fine."

Bit by bit, they start to make their way down a nearby and very unstable staircase. Krok tries to not waste time, but it is difficult with Fulcrum's practically nonexistant foot and other several injuries.

"Thank you," Krok finally murmurs. "For saving me."

Fulcrum tries to shrug and fails. "Don't make a big deal out of it," he advises, sounding a little less rough.

There's a pause as they finish going down the weak structure of the stairs. In his past experience, talking to his companions helps even out the stress of the moment. Usually, Krok would share war stories, but here? Here, he can't do that. It wouldn't really click for Fulcrum. So, he tries to consider a top before Krok warily states, "Where I was from, Fulcrum-- the one I know." Krok grunts as he shifts Fulcrum's weight a little. "He was reconfigured into a bomb against his will. Don't suppose you're in a similar position?"

"Don't suppose it's really any of your business," Fulcrum grumbles. "All you gotta know about me are three things: I hate Autobots, I love a good fight, and I'm always pissed off."

All right, then. Getting to know his (sort of) new crew like this isn't exactly how he intended it, but Krok is getting a better understanding of him, he thinks. Anger is a simple enough thing that most Decepticons have relied on in order to keep them going. Maybe this is no different. Fulcrum's rage, as opposed to fear, is what has kept him alive all this time. Quietly, Krok guides the both of them out from the building. 

" _Krok?_ " Krok hears Misfire's voice crackle over his radio link.

"Misfire." Immediately, he feels relieved hearing the reliable sniper on the line. "We're alive. Fulcrum's injured, so we're on foot. Slow going."

The relief in Misfire's voice is subtle, but Krok finds he's able to pick up on it. " _I'm glad you're both alive._ "

"Did everyone make it out? What about Spinister?" Krok asks hastily, remembering how Spinister had been impaled on that sword before they were separated.

" _Yes, everyone made it out. Spinister included. Although the S.S.S.A. was too damaged to fly. I'm afraid the Circle of Light made sure to vandalize it once Dai Atlas agreed to help First Aid. Crankcase and Deadlock are on the ground. I'm patching up Spinister right now, but Crankcase and Deadlock are woking on locating you. Spinister has a rough idea of where you might be based on Fulcrum's trajectory_."

The sounds of aircrafts abruptly fills Krok's auditory sensors as he glances up and sees several jets and planes in the sky. He's knowledge about the Circle of Light is rusty, but he knows that many of them possessed flying vehicle modes. Krok suspects that unless the Decepticons have sent reinforcements, chances are those are more mercenaries seeking them out.

Krok brings up his wrist again to speak to Misfire. "Tell them to be careful. I see a lot of sky activity."

" _You should also exercise caution. Rather, tell Fulcrum that,_ " Misfire answers.

"I ain't deaf," Fulcrum grumbles.

" _Well, you certainly act like--_ "

The radio suddenly cuts short when Krok feels a small electrical surge pass through his arm. Confused and alarmed, he shakes his wrist out before raising it. "Misfire? Misfire!" he calls out. Lingering the background is a faint yet high-pitched noise. Not enough to harm his auditory sensors, but could that be the source of his communicator dying?

Fulcrum scowls, lifting his wrist as well as he attempts to activate it. "Mine's dead." He exhales, looking frustrated. "Smelt. You're better off finding somewhere to hide. Now."

"What the hell are you on about?" Krok demands. "Even if you transform, I doubt you'll get far!"

A soft noise emits into the air. It's almost gentle, like someone telling them _shhh_. Krok jerks his head to the side, trying to find the source of the sound.

It doesn't matter. He's blindsided completely as something rams Krok from behind, throwing him off of his feet and he loses his grip on Fulcrum. When Krok hits the ground, he immediately rolls onto his back to try to see his assailant. An Autobot for certain based on the symbol he sees proudly worn on his chest, adorned by dark green plating and yellow accents. There are dull, old scrapes around his neck, but Krok can't quite figure out who this is supposed to be.

"Siren!" Fulcrum snarls from the ground.

That's who. From the tone of Krok's voice, not a good thing at all.

Siren tilts his head, then points his pistol at Fulcrum, determining him as the more threatening target. Determined, Krok manages to swing his weight from the ground in order to kick out at the back of Siren's knee, making him lose his balance. Despite lacking one leg, Fulcrum still manages to launch himself and throw himself on top of Siren, using his bare hands to attack him.

Just as Krok starts to get up, he goes still when he feels a blade against his neck.

"Fancy meeting you here," Wing muses from behind Krok.

Krok leans his head back immediately to try to avoid the sharp edge, reaching up and grbbing onto Wing's wrist. Unfortunately, the warrior has superior size and strength on him, and struggling only earns the weapon to come that much close to resting onto his neck cables and fuel lines. 

Wing tuts at him. "I wouldn't do that. Unless you don't care, Fulcrum?"

Fulcrum looks up sharply, then shouts; no words, just a pure, rageful sound as he prepares to throw himself at Wing, but hesitates on account of Krok.

"So you aren't a complete idiot." Wing presses the blade more snugly against Krok's throat. "Surrender and I won't kill him."

Siren grabs Fulcrum by the neck and manages to swing their positions around so that he can properly pin down the Decepticon, giving him a sharp sock to the his unprotected eye, cracking it. Fulcrum lets out a snarl, sounding more angry than in any kind of pain.

The way Fulcrum tenses up and raises a fist, he's prepared to fight back. Only, he glances back at Krok and Wing, cringes, and lets down his guard.

"Damn it, don't let up on my account!" Krok yells at him.

An all-too-familiar voice cuts in: "Oh, but I think he should. Don't you?"

Krok finds himself actually freezing again, not wanting to look up. Not wanting to look at First Aid, not as he approaches his way with such liveliness in comparison to his companion right behind. Whirl is no different, not reacting to his surroundings.

Clearly delighted with the situation, First Aid steps up to Krok, placing a hand to his shoulder. He cringes, but is unable to move much on account of Wing's hold on him and the sword. "You're looking so much better, Krok. What an opportunity to start all over between us. Fulcrum, you look like an absolute wreck."

"Shut the hell up!" Fulcrum sneers, grunting under Siren's weight.

"So cleverly spoken." Turning away from Krok, First Aid crouches by Fulcrum. "I thought what we shared was so utterly fantastic and brilliantly performed. Then you had to go and ruin it all. I'm happy to see that we get a second chance together, at long last."

Struggling again, Fulcrum lets out a furious, desperate roar as he starts to work on gaining the advantage back from Siren. "I'll be the one! The one to _kill you_ for what you did!"

"Ahem," Wing reminds, finally starting to cut into one of the fuel lines along Krok's neck. Krok lets out an instinctive hiss, feeling energon trickle down, but it's hardly the worst he's dealt with in the past twenty-four hours.

"I want you to surrender to me. Utterly surrender." First Aid leans in a little closer to Fulcrum. "Do that, and I won't kill Krok while you're alive."

"Don't you _dare_!" Krok shouts at him, optics wide. "Fulcrum, listen to me! I'm not your captain, right? You don't owe me anything!"

For a moment, Fulcrum seems to fight with himself on what he should do next. Eventually, he hisses in frustration and goes limp, turning his head away from First Aid.

"You made the right choice," the Autobot assures. "Whirl, Siren. Pick him up. Wing, once you help me deposit Krok, you'll be paid."

"I'm remembering that," Wing promises. "Get ready to walk, _Captain._ "

It's hard to watch as Fulcrum, stubborn and practically looking for a fight, just seems to completely give in. Whirl clenches down with both pincers over his arm, gripping hard enough to dent armor while Siren hefts him up by the other limb. It would make more sense if they were actually crew, but seeing him surrender like this surprises him almost as much as the rescue from falling.

But it seems no matter how rude and irritable Fulcrum's been with him, he certainly has no desire to see Krok harmed or killed. A familiar sensation of guilt sinks into Krok's spark. He hopes this doesn't end up in getting Fulcrum killed. Krok knows he can't forgive himself.

Briefly, Krok tries to glance around for any signs of Crankcase or Deadlock, but it's just them. Them, and the skies filled with members of the Circle of Light. It's a wonder they even made it out of the building, but now it doesn't matter. 

Not with the path they're now forced to follow.


	4. The World on the Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scavenging attempt goes awry, causing Krok to see familiar faces but quickly realize how far from home he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER: FOUR - "The World on the Other Side"  
> CONTINUITY: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
> RATING: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore. Do expect canon-level of gore throughout this story.  
> SUMMARY: Krok looks for a way home.  
> DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and I love the hecky out of Shattered Glass.

They aren't being taken all the way back to Garrus-2. It's barely any comfort to Krok; as much as he's glad to never see that place again, it only means that he's being given a more personal touch from the Autobot who's captured him. Instead, in a short distance, they're taken to an underground bunker that's hidden under a pile of rubble, meant to be easily missed by anyone observing from a distance. 

Which means that most likely no one will find them. Unless someone knows where to look, Fulcrum and Krok are on their own.

The bunker is quite small, a single room with a back door that might be an emergency exit. Immediately catching his eye is the huddled figure of someone in one of the corners of the room. With some observation, Krok is able to determine that it's Pharma, clearly alive and perhaps hoping that he'll be ignored. The rest of the bunker is furnished to a point, with a desk and recharge slab and two chairs. One seat is for comfort, and the other clearly to keep a captive cuffed to it. On the west well, there are shackles prepared for a waiting prisoner.

"Have a seat, Krok," First Aid says, nodding to the chair. Quickly, Wing shoves the Decepticon down, snapping the buckles into place around both his wrists and ankles. Krok immediately struggles with the bonds, grunting as he tries to test their limits.

No good. Not enough wiggle room. He'll have to think of something else.

"Now I know these won't be enough for you, Fulcrum." First Aid folds his arms and observes Whirl and Siren cuffing Fulcrum to the wall with his arms above his head. "So I arranged for some precautions. You were always so difficult."

"I'm not flattered, bub," Fulcrum rumbles out, narrowing his optics.

First Aid laughs quietly, watching with interest as chains are being clipped to a shackle which snaps into place around Fulcrum's neck and keeping him more effectively pinned where he is. "Oh, but you ought to be. Who else has ever taken the time to really get to know you as well as me?"

"And you're even dumber than I thought if you think that all of this is going to hold me down for long."

"I'm banking on your habitual sense of loyalty. For example." Sitting back comfortably in the unbound chair next to Krok, First Aid takes out a pistol from his hip, leveling it right at Krok's head. The Decepticon tactician jerks a little, for what little good it'll do him. "If you start struggling too much, my finger just might end up twitching. So you'll be on your best behavior, I imagine."

"Fraggin' _glitch_!" Fulcrum hisses, hands clenching into a fist. Briefly, it seems like Fulcrum might try to break out of his bonds, but nothing comes of it. He does not try to fight back, for Krok's sake.

Damn him. Krok certainly wants to _live_ like any average person, but not on the well-being of someone else. 

"Fantastic. I'm so happy to have your cooperation," First Aid says.

Wing clears his throat. "I've fulfilled your request. Now for your part of the bargain. Two Scavengers." 

"Right, right. Consider the contract fulfilled." First Aid calmly brings up his wrist, a glowing hologram projecting as he transfers digital funds accordingly. "Thank you for your services."

"Wing!" Fulcrum growls. "Next time I see you, you're _dead!_ I don't care what anyone says!"

"Well, then that'll be an interestin' day, won't it?" Wing rolls his shoulders back, then turns and makes his way out of the bunker.

First Aid lounges in his seat as he watches Wing go, then he takes a pause as he glances over to Krok, his expression coming off as if he's thinking very deeply. "That was a very curious thing to say earlier, Krok," First Aid muses. "Not his captain. Now, why would you ever say something like that?"

With careful manipulation of information, it could be possible to get out of this with a few chosen words. Unfortunately, Krok knows that none of his skills include manipulating people in particular. He's a tactician in terms of battle, not in terms of mind games. Still, he tries to think of a way to handle this in the best way possible. If he can get Fulcrum out of here alive, then that's good enough for him. As much as he completely desires to go home and see his own crew again, he knows he cannot turn his back on these Decepticons yet either.

So he says, "It's the truth. Why do you think everything about me was so strange before, Autobot? I don't belong in this universe. I'm not his captain and he's not part of _my_ crew."

"Hmm." First Aid tilts his head, looking ponderous as he considers Krok's explanation. "That's a very interesting explanation you've made. But all right. I'll play along. Let's assume you are, somehow, from another universe. I suppose I could see how you might have some disinclination towards him. It takes a unique individual to truly appreciate him."

Fulcrum snorts and spits at First Aid's feet. Krok tenses up a little; he isn't sure where this is going to go, but he's desperate for a possibility that'll buy them more time.

"Still, this just means you need to really get to know him, don't you?" Gently, First Aid taps his gun against the side of Krok's head, making the Decepticon flinch. "Pharma, come join us, won't you?"

There's a startled noise emitted from Pharma, but he wastes no time in standing up and quickly making his way to First Aid's side. From here, Krok can see the results of what happened to him after they were separated at Garrus-2: where Pharma's hand had been shot to pieces, it's now been replaced by a new strange appendage only vaguely resembling a hand. Each finger is elongated, looking like they function as separated soldering irons, sparking and heating at the tips. Due to the chainsaw arm, Krok wonders briefly if that was replaced due to it getting lost in a fight or something like that as well. Rather than properly repairing Pharma, he's been punished with hands that aren't fit for proper surgery. Instead, they've been made into tools of torture.

"Yes sir?" Pharma asks hollowly, sounding exhausted.

First Aid motions him close. "I really need you to do me a favor. Remember how well you cut open Krok earlier today?"

Pharma tries to hide a wince. "Yes. Yes I do."

"Fantastic. Wonderful. I'll need you to do something similar to Fulcrum now. Just be very careful with how far you're cutting. The point is, I need you to show the work we did on him." As First Aid makes the command, Krok feels as though his energon freezes in his fuel lines. This is _not_ the results he wanted.

Warily, Pharma glances at Fulcrum. The Decepticon warrior snarls at him, "Do your worst, Pharma. Oh, wait, you already did that! Didn't you?!"

Pharma glances down at his chainsaw limb. "Sir, I'm not sure that. That I'm the best fit for this."

"Ah, you're worried. Understandable. He did bite off your hand last time." First Aid chuckles at the memory. "Well, I wouldn't be so concerned. You don't really have any hands left to lose. Besides, if he misbehaves, I'll be executing his not-captain. Or worse, I suppose. We could certainly do worse."

Which Krok isn't eager to be dealing with the threat on his own person or Fulcrum's, the whole exchange earns a thoughtful squint from him as he tries to put the pieces together from this conversation. Wait, so Pharma has his arm like that because Fulcrum had bitten off his _hand_ sometime ago? That's a vicious thought. If he wasn't convinced that Fulcrum was a violent soldier in this universe, that certainly would seal the deal. 

Regardless, Krok feels helpless. He's trying to think of a way to turn this situation around, to keep this from happening. The historian glances around frantically. Waiting at the entrance is Siren, his arms folded as he gazes on in silence. The bunker exit has Whirl next to it, who stares at the floor. When Krok's gaze rests on Pharma, the Autobot is doing his best to keep from looking at anyone's face.

Then there's Fulcrum, who looks defiantly at First Aid, sneering. "I'm not afraid of what you're gonna do to me, bub. This is gonna be nothing." Krok _wishes_ he wouldn't do that.

"I appreciate the challenge." First Aid gestures to Fulcrum. "Get started, Pharma. Crack him open, then show Krok what's inside."

"Pharma." Krok frowns at the Autobot. Before at Garrus-2, Pharma had helped but Krok is under the impression that while Pharma seems to have sympathy for them, he fears the Autobots too much to truly turn away from them. In this situation especially, that seems to be the case. No matter how much desperation he puts into his look, Pharma has no strength to look at Krok.

Instead, Pharma steps forward, struggling a moment to lift his chainsaw before resting it on Fulcrum's chest.

"Call him off!" Krok demands, pulling at his cuffs. "I said _call him off!_ "

Completely ignoring Krok's pleas, First Aid instead watches Pharma with great interest. The chainsaw revs to life, the blades cutting into his target's chest. For all that Fulcrum has strength, he does not bear the ability to _not_ scream as he's cut into so violently. Energon splatters to the floor and he starts to bleed it out profusely.

From this angle, Krok can see Pharma gritting his teeth, looking like he's in pain as well in his own way. The chainsaw is dragged down until it's just to Fulcrum's waistline, then it stops after it's done cutting him lengthways. Pharma hesitates as he tries to figure out what to do next, then winces as he presses his soldering fingers into the cut he's brutally made. Energon sizzles at his fingertips and Krok can smell it due to the perpetual heat coming from Pharma's fingers.

With a grunt, plating is shoved open and Fulcrum braces himself with a weakened snarl. It takes some work, but Fulcrum's chest plates have been forced open, baring his insides to the audience in the room.

"I need you to look carefully," First Aid instructs Krok.

Afraid of what might happen if he doesn't, Krok looks up at the display. At first, he isn't sure what to even think; he can study the casing, where instead of the glimmer of a bright blue spark inside it's the fierce flame of an ember. Having seen many corpses with their insides strewn about in his time, what's arranged there doesn't come as an entire surprise, but something familiar is seated inside. Something that should not be there inside of Fulcrum.

Back on Clemency, shortly after they found the presumably dead K-Con, Spinister had volunteered to remove the payload. After Krok had been certain that his surgeon had the skills necessarily to safely take it out without killing all of them, he remembers being handed the payload. A good find. A good explosive. Spinister was able to take it out.

So why in all of the Pits couldn't this universe's Spinister remove the payload in this Fulcrum? It is admittedly arranged much more intricately, directly tied to the ember casing, but he was still a doctor. Why couldn't he? What was different? Why was that still there?

"I remember it so fondly." First Aid stands up, pulling away from Krok. "I took him and two other of your soldiers sometime ago. I was supposed to interrogate all three of them. Deadlock, Flywheels, and Fulcrum."

The pistol lowers, clipping back to First Aid's hip as an expression of confidence that nothing can interrupt him now. Pharma shrinks away and shuffles to duck himself behind the two chairs in the room, as if he hopes to be forgotten.

First Aid continues, "They wouldn't say much. Oh, we all had our fun. Whenever Ratchet stopped by, I remember how he took an appreciation for Deadlock's spirit until he seemed to go quiet. Even Flywheels didn't seem as if he could hold up against the likes of Garrus-2. But Fulcrum, you never quite lost that fire in you, did you?"

Fulcrum doesn't say anything, but he glowers at the Autobot, a deep growl in his engine. Without fear of his captive, First Aid shoves his hands into the cavity in Fulcrum's chest, grabbing onto a couple of the wires and cables hooked up to the payload. While Krok flinches in empathy, Fulcrum tenses while he flinches and snarls but doesn't struggle. "I rearranged your entire body, didn't I, Fulcrum? Playing with your insides was just the start. You really have to thank Ratchet for coming up with a missile alt-mode, though. He called it an improvement. I called it _interesting._ "

Organs on the inside are not left untouched. First Aid's fingers trail over fuel lines, his hands palming over the t-cog inside. At every bit of contact, Fulcrum hisses and twitches, his optics flaring in both pain and fury. "What fun we shared. You only made a fuss every time we came for your friends. You really shouldn't grow such deep attachments to people like that." One hand reaches out from Fulcrum's innards, patting the Decepticon warrior condescendingly on the cheek, leaving a smear of his own energon.

"Get the hell away from him," Krok demands, feeling his own frame shake in disgust and anger. He desperately wants to protect Fulcrum but he can't. He can't _move_ , can't do a damned thing.

"Krok, shut up," Fulcrum mutters, not looking at him.

"There it is. That nagging sense of loyalty of yours." First Aid loops a fuel line around his pinky, tugging it painfully away from Fulcrum's body. It doesn't disconnect from anything, but it's being dragged out of place painfully. "When Ratchet suggested the alt-mode, I put in the payload. Well, with Pharma's help of course. When all was said and done, we set him up for launch to Megatron's base."

So it's different than his Fulcrum. His Fulcrum, whose body was reformatted by his own military. Here, it's because of an Autobot's own delusions and torturous methods.

Krok doesn't quite flinch, but he feels heat nearby one of his shackles. He glances down as subtly as he can, seeing Pharma trying to discreetly work on using the heated tips of his fingers to melt through the shackle. 

So he's not entirely worthless. For the moment, anyway. Krok lets him keep working.

"Now that you've gotten to know him a bit better," First Aid murmurs, "what do you think, Krok? I could really use your opinion on something. Something that's bugged me for ages. You see, I thought I sealed his t-cog in place. I thought I did my part. So when we launched you, Fulcrum..." Fingers dig inside violently, making Fulcrum shout in pain. First Aid looks frustrated. "How? How did you transform?! How did you do it? How did you get away?? Krok, what do you _think?_ "

"Maybe you just aren't as good as you _think_ you are!" Fulcrum snaps at him, defiant despite his position. 

Finally, the cuffs start to snap open as Pharma works silently. Krok tenses up, just glad that Siren's attention is currently either on the door he's protecting or on First Aid. Whirl still hasn't budged from staring at the floor, disconnected from the situation entirely.

"From an outside perspective, Krok. This has been bothering me for ages!" First Aid demands.

"You want an outside perspective?" Krok asks, his tone low and full of warning. 

Standing up sharply, Krok makes an angry dash for First Aid, moving before anyone can think to stop him. He barrels into the Autobot torturer, throwing him to the floor and tearing him away from Fulcrum. Just as Siren starts to move, Krok grabs the pistol from First Aid's hip and points it at Siren.

"Not another step!" Krok snaps.

"How did...?" First Aid pauses, then peers around Krok with a narrowed gaze. "Pharma."

"I. I didn't-- I mean." Pharma freezes up, optics wide.

Clearly enraged, First Aid shouts, "Whirl! Get Krok!" 

Turning around to try to face his opponent in time, Krok is immediately faced with Whirl slamming into him. Pincers grip at one of his wrists, but Krok manages to keep one hand free, punching brutally at the single optic in front of him. One hit isn't enough, so Krok kicks out and keeps striking at the optic staring at him, lacking any emotion.

Around Whirl's shoulder, Krok can see First Aid starting to stand back up and slowly approach his traitorous assistant. "Pharma. I'm very unhappy about this."

Nervously, Pharma takes a few steps back. "I-I know. I know! I made a mistake."

"No, I really don't think you understand how bad this is for you," First Aid says, his tone pitching down.

Frustrated, Krok tries to elbow his assailant in the eye. It's just enough to finally make Whirl flinch and pull away, his claws touching his cracked and flickering optic. Landing roughly onto his feet, Krok starts to reach for First Aid to stop him, but he feels a sharp strike go to the back of his head, causing Krok to become stunned and collapse to the ground in a stumble.

Just as Krok turns to look at his attacked, Siren is peering down at him. Preparing to give a damaging blow, Siren goes still when a blade impales him from behind. Silently staring down, Siren looks confused before he's being thrown against the closest wall.

Standing in the doorway is Deadlock, his arms open dramatically. "Ta-dahhhhh!"

First Aid looks over his shoulder, then scowls. "You! What are you--"

The way Deadlock moves is incredibly fast, to the point where he's almost just a red blur when he races up to First Aid. Swinging his sword neatly, he slices through First Aid's throat, cutting his voice box. The torturer sputters and clutches his throat, stumbling back with his visor widening in surprise. It's quickly become clear that his odds are suddenly very much not in his favor. First Aid turns and slams his shoulder into the emergency exit, forcing the door open as he races out of the bunker.

Alarmed, Whirl looks up to where his comrade escapes. The drone-like Autobot almost looks lost for a moment, then stumbles into a run to follow First Aid. 

Krok grunts and gets to his feet, determined to follow them,but Pharma shoves him back away from the door. "Get out of the way! I'm not letting him terrorize us any longer!" Krok orders.

Silently, Pharma just shakes his head and uses his weight to keep Krok from chasing them down. A few more seconds tick by and Krok realizes why: the doorway that First Aid and Whirl took ends up exploding, causing their exit to collapse onto itself. It was rigged to keep anyone from following.

Which means First Aid gets away. _Again._ It's a bitter feeling to not return the karma, but Krok knows that his attention is needed elsewhere. He glances at Pharma, then shoves him aside by the shoulder. "Thanks," Krok mutters, voice stiff and unsure if he likes saying that to the Autobot.

Krok glances over to Fulcrum. With his swords, Deadlock is working on getting his comrade freed from the wall. While Deadlock gives off the impression of being reckless and an idiot, he's cautious about using his swords to break Fulcrum out of his restraints. When he's finally successful, he carefully takes his teammate into his arms and lowers him to the floor.

Quickly, Krok's optics dart to where Siren had originally fallen.

He's gone. Just a stain of energon has been left behind, and an open door to the entrance where Deadlock had come through.

"Is anyone else with you?" Krok asks Deadlock.

"Nope. Just yours truly," Deadlock answers, gingerly settling Fulcrum onto the floor on his back. "Hey, Fulcrum. How many fingers am I holding up?" The red warrior holds up two.

"More than Pharma," Fulcrum sneers, giving the Autobot a glare. Pharma flinches.

"Eh, good enough."

Krok looks down at the mess that's been left. Plating forced open, insides exposed, some out of alignment. He hates to think that Fulcrum had to endure this before, and worse. That it was the Autobots who made him into an explosive. That, quite possibly, this is all linked together: the missing seat in the S.S.S.A. belonged to Flywheels, Pharma's missing hand, the relationship between Deadlock and Fulcrum, and how much First Aid has been a blight in their lives.

Crouching down next to Deadlock, Krok places a hand to Fulcrum's shoulder. "You shouldn't have surrendered," he says softly. "Not for me. Not when this happened."

"Wasn't really your choice, darlin'." Fulcrum hisses and winces as he tries to push himself up.

"Hey, on the bright side, if you were actually our Krok, there'd be a lot more yelling," Deadlock points out.

"How the hell did you end up finding us, anyway?" Krok asks him.

Deadlock shrugs a little, staring down at Fulcrum, as if he's trying to work out on what to do. "I followed my nose," he answers sarcastically. "Hey, Pharma. Do something useful and see if you can put him back together."

"That's not a real answer," Krok points out, annoyed.

Letting out an irritated sigh, Deadlock says, "Look, I got lucky, okay? That's all. Crankcase and I split up to cover more ground. I heard Fulcrum and look where we are now."

It's not much of a response, but Krok supposes that if Deadlock really did just luck out in finding them that it could be the truth. Although he was initially prepared to deal with Deadlock as the traitor, it could be that he isn't. If he didn't care about his crew, he wouldn't have come to rescue them.

Krok turns his gaze back to Fulcrum, who's struggling to deal with the pain he's in. Admittedly, Fulcrum just looks angry at the situation, but it could be a front. Either way, he silently frets over the injured Decepticon.

"That's good enough for me, then," Krok says. "Thanks for the help."

Deadlock shrugs indifferently.

As Pharma inches near to try to assist, Fulcrum gives a wary snarl. "I should kill you," Fulcrum grates out.

"I-I didn't want to," Pharma stammers out. "But I was too afraid--"

"Were you too afraid when you helped First Aid make me into this?!" Fulcrum snaps at him.

"Fulcrum, I don't blame you, but Pharma helped me break out from where I was cuffed," Krok offers. "Until Spinister has a look at you, he's all we have."

"Yeah, and moving you right now would probably be a terrible idea. You'd get your gross nasty guts everywhere," Deadlock points out. "Hey, we'll see if we can stab Pharma when you're feeling better." That makes Pharma stop, his optics wide. "Oh, c'mon! Not now. Later, I said."

"We'll make that determination at a later date," Krok clarifies, scowling. "Fix him as much as you hand with those... hands. Deadlock, can you try to reach out to Misfire? Siren broke our radio links."

"Whatever you say, not-Krok," Deadlock grumbles, standing up and stepping outside to do just that.

There's a pause as Pharma tries to determine what to do in regards to the repairs he's supposed to attempt. "Brace yourself," he finally advises, wincing as he starts to push the plating closed over Fulcrum's torso again. It earns pained grunts from the Decepticon warrior, but remarkably he's still awake. Once both sides are mostly shut, Pharma starts to use his soldering fingers to seal him closed.

Krok lightly places his hand over Fulcrum's wrist, looking down at him in concern. "Will you manage?"

"Please, I've walked away from worst," Fulcrum says with a snort.

"That's not really what I meant."

Fulcrum hesitates, then glances away from Krok. "Whatever. I'm fine."

While Krok isn't ready to believe that, he leaves the subject alone for the moment. His optics dim slightly and he gazes over the remains of First Aid's handiwork left on Fulcrum's body.

"He said you managed to transform in time, when he launched you as a missile. Even though you shouldn't have," Krok remembers. "What happened then?"

"I told you. I'm always pissed off." Fulcrum sighs, wincing as Pharma seals him up. "I got angry enough to force my t-cog to work. That good enough for you?"

Admittedly, Krok is curious to know more about what must have happened to him, but it isn't his business ultimately. He doesn't know what kind of other memories he could force him to relive, especially after he was just given the slightest glimpse of what he must have endured only a few moments ago. 

His only regret is that First Aid escaped.

"Yeah. Sure." Krok pats his arm.

"There. That's... that's as much as I can do." Pharma's shoulders slump. "We'll have to wait for the rest of his team."

"Right." Krok sighs and rubs his forehead.

A small break to be left to his thoughts would be nice, in any case. To his own surprise, he finds himself missing Tarn's clinic. They'd been hospitable and kind and welcoming, even if Krok hates being stuck in this backwards world. It's infinitely better than the situation is right now.

Krok sits close to Fulcrum. It's all that he can do.

 

-=-=-

 

It's silent in the room for quite sometime. Somehow, through it all, Fulcrum has remained conscious, but his gaze isn't directed anywhere particular. Every time he glances at Pharma, he lets out a growl which startles the Autobot. When he looks at Krok, Fulcrum almost seems unsure of what to say or how to react, so he turns his head away quickly. Krok doesn't blame him; he himself is not sure what to do about this situation.

Pharma, for the most part, keeps to himself. He looks down at his lack of proper hands, and he trembles in fear. Krok wants to hate him, but right now he just pities him.

Finally, he hears familiar voices outside the door. It's Deadlock greeting Misfire and Spinister shortly before all three of them travel into the bunker.

At a more familiar face, Fulcrum leans up onto his elbows and creates a forced smirk in Misfire's direction. "About time you--" Fulcrum starts as Misfire marches up to them, but he's cut off as Misfire punches him across the face hard enough to knock him back to the floor. It's startling enough to make Pharma yelp and find a corner to tuck himself into.

"Not another word!" Misfire snaps at him. "Don't you ever, ever do that again! You could have been killed, it could have been _worse_ than that!"

"As opposed to anything else I've ever done?" Fulcrum growls, but he looks away in a behavior that could be like pouting.

"That's enough, both of you," Krok says, stepping in. "We need to focus here."

Misfire pauses, as if realizing his own reaction. With a troubled frown, he looks away and mutters to Fulcrum, "Just stay there until Spinister repairs you. Otherwise at this rate, it'll take us hours to get to Iacon." He pauses, then addresses Krok. "That is, assuming you also don't transform into anything? Our captain doesn't, either."

Krok shakes his head. "No, you got it right."

Spinister comes closer. He turns his head and looks at Pharma first, the expression he wears being sympathetic, but he turns his attention back to his team. The expression in blue optics seem to come off as if he's fretting on the inside upon seeing his comrade injured like this.

"Fulcrum?" Spinister kneels down next to him. "Are you--?"

"S'fine," Fulcrum cuts him off, mostly sounding grumpy instead of actually snapping at the medic. "Fix me up as much as you can."

Spinister sighs. "I will. I really wish you wouldn't get yourself into these kinds of situations."

"Wasn't much choice in the matter," Fulcrum mutters.

Misfire turns to face Deadlock, addressing him: "I need you to scout the area and make sure that we don't have any other surprise attacks from Autobots or mercenaries. We did a quick check, but we need to be sure while we get Fulcrum ready for mobilization."

"Yeah, but--" Deadlock starts, clenching his fists.

"Now," Misfire tells him sternly.

There's an angry look that crosses Deadlock's face, then he turns away sharply before he runs out and leaves the bunker. He transforms, his engine roaring as he drives away.

This leaves a brief lull for them; Krok observes the bunker with Spinister trying his best to repair Fulcrum and tidy up Pharma's work with more able hands. He can see Fulcrum's gaze briefly glare at Pharma's shivering, pitiful form in a corner of the room, and Misfire stands at attention by the door as he observes the rubble where Whirl and First Aid made their escape.

One last loose end, then. Krok takes out his gun and approaches Pharma, frowning at him as he levels it at the Autobot's head. The click of the gun gives him away enough that Pharma looks over his shoulder, his eyes widening in terror as he backs up.

"Please! Please, Krok--" Pharma chokes out.

"Krok," Misfire calls out, quickly approaching to place his hand on the historian's wrist, lowering his arm. "What are you doing?"

"In case you forgot, he cut us _both_ open," Krok snaps at Misfire. "And based what I understand, that wasn't the first time Pharma's cut into Fulcrum, was it?"

"You're not wrong, but Pharma's gradually been helping us from the inside, in case _you_ have forgotten." Misfire exhales. "You were awake when he helped us at Garrus-2. You remember? And First Aid has a... way of coercing people when he wants to. Spend enough time with him, and he will do everything he can to manipulate you. I can only imagine what that's been like for Pharma. We should focus ourselves on trying to find Brainstorm's lab."

Krok shoves off Misfire's grip, glaring at him. "None of that is any excuse. You're loyal to your team. Period! I should put a few bullets in him to make him realize that."

"I can help! I can-- I can help you." Pharma bows his head submissively, and Krok feels a brief pang of pity for him. "Unless... of course you already know where Brainstorm's laboratory is?"

That earns a bit of hesitation from Krok before he looks at Misfire. "Do we?"

"No. That's why Deadlock and Crankcase are scouting. Brainstorm's always been elusive and rarely comes out into the open," Misfire admits. "Pharma, you know where it is?"

"Yes. Ambulon and I have been there a few times for some projects. I'll take you there, just... just don't kill me," Pharma pleads.

After a moment of reconsideration, Krok huffs out a sigh before clipping his gun back to his hip. "Fine then," he mutters. "I have one other question for you, though."

"I-- yes?" Pharma looks up, visibly terrified.

"Do you know who the traitor is?" Krok asks. "The traitor in the Decepticons."

Pharma's shoulders sink. "No, for all that First Aid would implicate and mock, he would not tell. But I think Brainstorm might know. He was working on trying to kill you."

"So I've heard." Roughly, Krok grabs Pharma by the arm and pulls him to his feet. It earns a nervous whimper from the Autobot, but he complies. "You help us, and I'll place you into Misfire's custody. It's up to him what to do with you after that. Understood?"

That earns an over-eager nod from Pharma as he tries to please. "Yes! Yes, I understand. Thank you."

"Crankcase, Deadlock. Return at my location. We may know where to find the lab," Misfire commands through his radio link. Turning his head to address the Decepticon surgeon, he continues with, "Spinister, once Fulcrum's ready to go, we'll leave. Inform me when it's done."

"Sure, but he's not gonna be in any fighting condition," Spinister answers.

Fulcrum snorts. "Says _who?_ "

"Says your doctor! Gosh." Spinister gives a helpless sigh.

A frown remains on Krok's face as he considers a moment. He catches Misfire's elbow into his hand and guides him closer to the exit. "Misfire," he says, as if to start a conversation.

"Krok?" the sniper responds. "What is it?"

Krok exhales softly. "I've been thinking awhile, ever since Deadlock saved us from First Aid and his lot. What's bothering me is that, honestly, I don't even know if our plan of just crashing into Brainstorm's lab is even going to work. Sure, maybe Pharma is being honest with us and knows where it is, but then what?" He doesn't want to say it, but honestly, Krok is frightened at the very real possibility that he'll be stuck in this insane world.

"We won't let that happen to you or our captain," Misfire informs him.

That just makes Krok shake his head. "Your confidence is inspiring and all, but we need to seriously consider what our next step is. We go to Brainstorm's lab, and then what?"

"I gave that some consideration," Misfire says. "We'll have to utilize the scanner that Overlord gave Spinister to determine if we can locate the device responsible for all of this. Additionally, if Brainstorm is at his lab, it gives us an opportunity to interrogate him. If not, we may want to consider requesting Overlord's help to recover Brainstorm's notes. No one else here is qualified."

While Krok supposes that it's a better plan than just running blindly into the lab without much of an idea, it's still not a promise that he'll make it back where he belongs. Eventually, he does sigh and pat Misfire's elbow. The friendly contact earns a confused look from Misfire, but Krok continues with, "Thank you. I know you're doing everything you can."

"It's..." Misfire clears his throat. "Of course, Krok. I have been evaluating as many possibilities as I can. We will do everything to get you back to your universe."

"Didn't take you too off guard, did I?" Krok muses.

Misfire's optics flicker for a moment. "Our captain is not as informal as you are. It's a difference I'm still adjusting to."

"Welcome to the club," Krok says flatly. "I'm still trying to wrap my mind around how _opposite_ everything is around here. But I think I'm starting to see some similarities, too."

"Such as?" Misfire asks, tilting his head. 

"You're still as talkative as ever." Krok lets himself have a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I don't mean that in a bad way. You both have a lot to say."

"Hell, you don't know the half of it," Fulcrum remarks.

Both Krok and Misfire turn their heads, observing Fulcrum limping with Spinister's assistance to stand. From the looks of things, Spinister's been able to assemble a very temporary leg for Fulcrum to balance on, but his torso looks a little less grimly welded now. In the end, Fulcrum will still need a proper medibay to get full repairs completed.

"You're looking more like your cheery self," Krok says, folding his arms.

Fulcrum barks out a laugh. "That's right, I'm all sunshine an' crystal flowers, darlin'."

"I couldn't do much more," Spinister says apologetically.

"Shut your hole, Spin. You did plenty," Fulcrum snaps at him. "Now let me walk."

"Okay, okay! Sheesh. Just don't blame me if you topple over." Reluctantly, Spinister lets go of Fulcrum, letting him wobble on his own.

"Pharma. With me," Misfire instructs.

Silently, the Autobot nods and shuffles to remain close to the sniper, doing his best to avoid anyone's gaze. He flinches when Fulcrum sneers at him, but the Decepticon doesn't do anything worse than that as they finally leave the bunker. Something that Krok is all too glad to do.

It's a period of silence waiting outside, preparing to mobilize whenever Crankcase and Deadlock show back up.

Eventually, Spinister pipes up. "So, uh. Pharma?"

"Sorry!" Pharma instinctively blurts out, his optics wide. "I mean-- sorry? Yes?"

"This might sound like a funny question, but." Spinister rubs the back of his neck. "How's Whirl doing?"

That earns a moment of silence that Krok doesn't really quite understand. When he looks towards Misfire and Fulcrum, both of them are doing their best to remain uninvolved in the topic.

"I-- well? I mean." Pharma swallows and looks at the ground, deciding that's the safest place to look at. "He's alive. But he only responds to First Aid. I'm sorry, that's probably not what you want to hear."

Spinister is quiet for a moment, then forces a chuckle. "No, no! It's okay! I asked. Thanks for being honest with me. He's alive, so that's good, right? So great! Life changes all the time, after all!"

Pharma looks confused at the optimism, fake or not. He doesn't seem to know how to respond, so he just nods meekly. At the response, Spinister gives Pharma a hearty slap on the back. It makes the Autobot jerk, almost terrified for a moment until he realizes that the smack wasn't particularly violent, which just leaves him all the more puzzled.

Spinister beams down to him. "There you go! Chin up. The future's on the horizon, and it sure looks great! I was thinking since you're finally with us, things can only go up. That's pretty awesome, Pharma! Good for you! See what I mean by how life changes? Yours is just gonna get way better!"

"I... suppose?" Pharma tries to smile, but instead he looks like he's in pain. "Thank you, Dr. Spin."

"Oh man, no one's called me that in ages. Spinister's okay now, it really is!" the surgeon assures.

The exchange leaves Krok in some mild confusion, but he isn't prepared to ask Spinister for more details yet. Not when it's probably not his business. Something with Whirl seems personal, and that's all that he can surmise from the conversation. The important part that Krok realizes is that Spinister is actively trying to cheer up Pharma. That's odd to him considering the damage Pharma's done, but in retrospect it's truly been First Aid's hand that's done such harm to them.

Maybe that's what Spinister recognizes. Krok has a harder time forgiving, but Pharma's fate is in their hands now. Not his.

Finally, he hears two familiar engines approach. Headlights shut off and both Deadlock and Crankcase are transforming from their vehicle modes, quickly approaching their team.

"Oh, Fulcrum! I heard what happened!" Crankcase races up and looks like she wants to embrace her teammate, but thinks better of it considering his condition. "You gonna be all right?"

"I've come out of worse situations. You know me better than that." Fulcrum places a hand to her shoulder. "Let's focus on dealin' with Brainstorm."

"A good decision." Misfire turns his attention to Pharma. "It's your time now, Pharma. Lead us to Brainstorm's lab, and then you live."

"Right. Right, of course." Pharma lets out a shudder before stepping forward. "This way."

 

-=-=-

 

Just walking takes time to get there. Without the S.S.S.A., they make their trek over the war damaged cityscape that's left of the area they're in. As they progress, Krok vaguely recognizes the area they're in, or whatever's left of it. He thinks they're in Iacon, but it's admittedly hard to really tell considering how much the war has already ravaged this place. It brings back memories for him; some good, mostly unfortunate but necessary. 

They're careful, which leads to Fulcrum's grumbling. They have to be. In this crazy backwards world, Krok is suddenly important enough to the Autobots for them to want to kill him, apparently. Which is a thought that still astounds him to this moment. Bottom line, they need to avoid being spotted at the moment since they're grounded.

"We're almost there," Pharma announces.

"About smeltin' time," Fulcrum practically spits.

"If someone hadn't been so eager to be impulsive, it may not have taken as long," Misfire says, looking at Fulcrum. Unlike his typical behavior, he doesn't speak in a way that's cold, but he sounds frustrated.

"If you're gonna complain, don't be so passive aggressive about it, bub," Fulcrum sneers. "Go on. Tell me to my face how you _really_ feel."

Clearly irritated, Misfire shakes his head. "The last thing I need to see from you is you practically throwing your life away so eagerly."

"I'm not the one limiting myself just because I'm so damned scared of the Autobots!" Fulcrum snaps at him.

"Guys?" Spinister pipes up, holding his hands up. "C'mon, we don't need to fight."

"Butt out!" Fulcrum snarls.

"That's enough!" Krok interrupts, glaring at both Misfire and Fulcrum. "You're a unit, so _act like it!_ "

While hardly ashamed of himself, Fulcrum wises up and closes his mouth, looking away from the rest of the team. A bit more embarrassed of his words and actions, Misfire sets his sights ahead instead, increasing his pace to walk ahead of everyone else. 

The outburst is a little understandable. Without Misfire's captain, it might be safe to say that he isn't used to leading this team on his own. Krok's offered some input here and there, but it's still Misfire's crew. Yet, there is some truth to Fulcrum's words: Misfire did seem very upset at the prospect of Fulcrum having been in danger of being in First Aid's hands again, and undoubtedly with Fulcrum's reckless behavior.

Krok makes a mental note before increasing his pace to catch up to Misfire. Now isn't a good time to tackle the subject, so it's better to focus on the matter at hand here.

"Just occurred to me: what do you know about Brainstorm? What should I be expecting?" Krok asks.

An exasperated expression forms on Misfire's face. "Well, he's a scientist."

"Great. I already knew that. He's the same way back where I'm from. What else?"

"That's about it," Misfire answers reluctantly. "We've never had very much intel on Brainstorm, and he mostly keeps to himself. Of course he works on projects for Optimus Prime, but beyond that, we're honestly not sure."

"I, uh. I can offer some input," Pharma offers, wincing.

Gathering up as much patience as he can muster, Krok tells him, "Go on."

"Well, he's..." Pharma gestures vaguely with his most hand-like limb, thinking of how to phrase it for a moment. "He is a bit of a shut-in. Not nearly as eccentric as Wheeljack, though. He can be a bit single-minded, but that's because he focuses on proving one theory at a time. If Optimus orders him to do something, he'll try to tie it into one of his ideas. Right now, Brainstorm has more of a monopoly on the science side of things ever since Wheeljack was sent away."

"Mm." Krok rubs his chin. "That helps a bit."

"I would just be careful. He tends to protect his lab with various traps. Ambulon and I had to be escorted by Atomizer last time," Pharma points out. "And he changes the layout periodically."

"I think we can manage," Misfire says.

Krok nods in agreement. If there's one thing he can count on, it's that this team will figure it out. That, and it certainly wouldn't be the first time he's dealt with traps from someone, anyway.

When they step into a wide, vacant street littered with debris, Krok squints his eyes to peer around. This definitely looks familiar. The ruins of a large building but mostly demolished with pillars barely remaining--

"Iacon's library," he recalls. 

"More accurately, Brainstorm is holed up in the basement." Pharma pauses, then peers over some rubble. "Oh. No no no-- what's he done?"

Unfortunately, Krok can't tell exactly what Pharma is indicating. If there's one thing that's perpetual, it's that he's probably the most vertically challenged amonged the team. So, while everyone else is peering over the edge in shock and awe, Krok folds his arms impatiently.

"What's going on?" he finally demands.

"Shh! Not so loud," Crankcase hushes Krok, looking worried. "We'll go 'round to the other side quiet-like an' then you'll see, okay?"

Krok huffs softly, then nods. Very well, then. He's prepared to follow them.

While they're circling around the remains of the library, Krok catches the glimpse of something between the cracks of the mostly broken walls. Something large, something half-snarling and half-snoring. Honestly, it sounds familiar, something he swears he's heard before but he can't quite put his finger on it. Shaking his head to himself, Krok concentrates on following Misfire without making noise as much as he can.

There's a large, fallen pillar that looks like a good foundation for them to take cover behind. It's just enough room for the entire team to duck behind. A pair at a time, they're able to sneak their way over.

Once they're ducked behind the pillar, Krok whispers to Crankcase, "So what is it already?"

"Have a quick look yourself, then you'll see our problem." Crankcase folds her arms, looking a little frustrated with the situation.

Warily, Krok starts to peer over the edge, frowning. Then his optics widen in surprise. That looks an awfully like Grimlock in his beast mode! All curled up with chains around his neck keeping him pinned where he is. Well, it explains why the sound was so familiar. Krok recalls hearing the soft snarling noise of Grimlock snoozing in the engine room once. The first time he heard it, it was just as jarring.

Krok sits back down, feeling troubled.

"Ain't no way Optimus would'a let Brainstorm borrow him. So I'm thinkin' he got nabbed or something," Crankcase considers. "In any case, we gotta think of a way to deal with 'im."

"This might be an odd question, but what's Grimlock like?" Krok decides to ask.

"You ask that like he's a person," Misfire muses bluntly.

With a touch more remorse in his tone, Spinister explains, "Grimlock was designed by Wheeljack to be a killing machine. He's not a sentient Cybertronian; he's literally just a machine made to destroy. No ember at all, actually. He doesn't think, he just kills. Kind of an unfortunate life to live, having no will of your own."

"Never got a chance to fight the big beast himself," Fulcrum muses, forming a sharp smile.

"And you won't. You're not fit for a full fight," Misfire tells him, scowling.

A bitter laugh escapes Fulcrum. "You and I both know I've been in a worse condition than this. Whatever's in my way, I'll smash my way through. Dinobot or no Dinobot."

"Dynobot," Krok corrects.

"What? What the smelt is the difference?"

"It's the--" Krok pauses, then sighs and rubs his helm. "Never mind. Look, Fulcrum, if this is gonna get you killed--"

Abruptly, Fulcrum's hand rests on his shoulder and he looks at Krok in the eye. "Trust me. This ain't how I go."

"Don't die," Krok commands, narrowing his eyes. "I may not be your captain, but that's still an order, soldier."

"You aren't seriously considering letting him do this," Misfire hisses at him, frowning.

Krok shrugs. "Where I'm from, in his own way, Fulcrum handles Grimlock. Sure, this is, erm... a tad more violent. Either way, I know why you're concerned, Misfire. But one thing you need to know about your crew is to trust them. Know their limits, don't set them because you're scared for them."

A startled look plays up on Misfire's features, then he appears sullen. "Fulcrum--"

"I'll be fine." Fulcrum rolls his shoulders back.

"If you die, do I get your stuff?" Deadlock pipes up.

"Nope."

"You suck."

"Fulcrum, I mean it. Don't get yourself killed for me," Krok tells him.

"Whatever. Do me a favor: make sure you get back to your crew. I'm sure they're waitin' on you. And one other thing." Fulcrum stands up, then glances away, as if a little embarrassed. "Just... be careful? Watch yourself."

The moment echoes a little to him. Krok hesitates, then nods. "You too. Good luck."

Vaulting himself over the pillar, they watch him head towards the ruins with tight, determined fists and a strut in his walk that clearly displays zero fear. Once Krok sees Fulcrum climb over some rubble, he seems to disappear. But it's very apparent when he hears metal hit metal.

"Hey! Wake up, bub!" he hears Fulcrum shout.

"Subtle," Misfire mutters.

In reply to Fulcrum rudely waking him up, Grimlock lets out a familiar roar. It's loud enough to make the ground tremble and Krok can hear Crankcase flinching and squeaking in surprise. Still stupidly brave, Fulcrum lets out a laugh before he shouts back at Grimlock.

"Some fearsome beast. You couldn't even make Pharma afraid of you!" Fulcrum laughs at him. "You wanna prove your worth? Prove it now!" 

Krok can hear chains snap and tear away, and the ground beneath them rumbles again. Smashing through the debris and coming into sight are both Grimlock and Fulcrum, tumbling over the remains of the library. The enthusiastic look Fulcrum wears is wide and proud as he physically wrestles with the much larger Autobot. They roll over twice and Fulcrum finally manages to land a solid punch to the beast's snout, enough to dent it.

Bright light forms in Grimlock's mouth, and then flames spew out, spraying over Fulcrum. In return the Decepticon practically cackles and continues to punch his way into the back of the Dinobot's throat, not caring a bit about the fire.

To be perfectly honest, Fulcrum looks like he's enjoying himself.

"Let's go," Misfire orders, voice low. 

"Y'sure?" Crankcase looks after Fulcrum and Grimlock, worried.

Spinister gently tugs her by the wrist. "Hey, he said he was gonna be okay. If he gets hurt too bad, we'll give him heck, okay?"

Quickly, they dash towards the entrance that was originally blockaded by the Autobot. In the background, Krok can hear Fulcrum taunting and battling with Grimlock as they tussle. He hopes that he's right about this, that Fulcrum can handle Grimlock in his own way. Even if this isn't the K-Con that's part of his own crew, he doesn't wish death on him. Not on someone that's saved his life.

"Let me see here... yes!" Pharma hurries over to a hatch on the floor. "This is it! I-I can't lift it myself, though."

"I got it!" Spinister calls dibs, running over to Pharma's side. As he starts to pull up on the hatch on the floor, the surgeon suddenly pauses with a confused look. "Misfire, do you hear...?"

Misfire narrows his eyes, then suddenly he tackles Krok to the ground without a word. The war historian gives a surprised grunt, landing flat on his back as he hears a gun being fired.

He peers up at the broken wall where the shot had been made, watching as some kind of whirling bullet digs itself in. If that had hit him that'd been fatal not to mention also painful.

"Atomizer," Misfire concludes with a sigh. He slides out his sniper rifle as he expositions, "I don't know what kind of person he's like where you're from, Krok, but he's a hitman. Sometimes successful in what he does. In any case, I'll take care of it. Spinister, go on without me."

"Misfire." Krok pauses, then says, "Thanks for your help. You've been an incredibly capable second-in-command."

Something that's not quite a smile forms on Misfire's face. "Get home safely, Captain." Without another word, Misfire transforms into a jet and takes off.

"Well, that leaves us!" Spinister beams brightly. "Stick close to me, Pharma!"

"I-- all right." Pharma looks mildly uncomfortable. "Will they really be all right on their own?"

"Little _late_ worrying about them now, isn't it?" Deadlock points out, shrugging. "But hey, it could only go smoothly from here, right? Whoops, hope I didn't jinx it!" He laughs and helps Spinister open the hatch. "Down we go!"

Krok peers down the long shaft that goes down to the basement. "Hmph. Glad it has a ladder."

"What? Are you kidding? Don't be so boring!" Without any warning, Deadlock scoops up Krok into his arms before leaping down the open hatch, all before Krok can properly reaction to any of it. As they fall, Deadlock pracitcally cackles out, "AH HA HA this is great! Put your hands up in the air, Krok! It'll make you go faster!"

"I swear I'm gonna kill you if I don't purge my tanks!" Krok growls, wincing as they quickly get closer and closer to the floor below. He flinches, bracing himself for a brutal landing.

Suddenly, a grappling hook is fired from Deadlock's wrist; the hook impales into the side of the shaft, slowing down their fall abruptly to prevent them from smashing into the floor. Just a few feet from the bottom, Deadlock releases Krok, letting the war historian land onto his feet with a stumble. Behind him, he can hear Deadlock land calmly before giving Krok a rough smack on the back.

"Who's got two thumbs and didn't die stupidly from hopping into a big hole?" Deadlock points his two thumbs to himself. "This guy! And, okay, you too. But mostly me."

Krok just groans uncomfortably. Freefalling is not one of his favorite things, especially as a monoformer. He has no ability to really protect himself from falling, no alt-mode to depend on. That was less than preferable.

Sliding down the ladder much more properly is Crankcase; she lands on her feet and pats her hand on Krok's shoulder, helping him steady out. "We're gettin' closer, Krok. Just hang in there!"

"Yep," is all Krok manages to grunt out, still working on keeping the walls from spinning.

While he tries to refocus his optics on the immediate area, he can see that there really is only just one door and one path to follow. The tunnel looks like it was made without much elegance, brutally carved into the remains of the Iacon library. The hallway is dimly lit, and the further it goes down the more that Krok can see is that there's a shimmer of slime rolling downt he walls and floor. 

It's not the cleanest sight, but it's not as bad as Garrus-2 by any means.

"Wow, this is kind of a creepy place!" Spinister observes with a hearty laugh as he lands right behind Crankcase. He pauses to help Pharma off of the ladder. "You think Brainstorm ever leaves the basement?"

"If I had a cozy little cave where I never had to leave, I'd probably do the same thing. Let's be honest." Deadlock lets out a chuckle.

"He doesn't really," Pharma offers up a real answer. "As long as he's working, it's never really offended anyone. I'm still surprised he got his hands on Grimlock. He must be working on something important down here if he felt it was worth stealing Optimus's Dinobot."

"Dai Atlas's lead must've been right on the nose," Crankcase says. "Spin, you check that scanner yet?"

"On it!" Spinister lifts up his wrist. "Looking for any hints of those particles right now."

"Particles?" Pharma tilts his head a little.

"Oh, Overlord helped us come up with this nifty device! It scans for these particles and that probably means it's from another universe or something. I dunno. I'm not a scientist. I legitimately have no idea why he thought I should have it." Spinister forces a giggle. "But if it works as simply as he implied, then we should have a lead!"

"Wait, so you were completely serious about being from another universe?" Pharma glances at Krok. "I thought-- well, I assumed you said it in trying to throw off First Aid."

Krok shakes his head. "I was desperate. Even the truth seemed good enough to try at the time. First Aid and you really had no idea?"

There's a helpless look from Pharma. "No, not at all. He knew about the traitor, but this is news to me."

"Anyway! From the looks of it, there are some particles in this hallway. Based on this scanner, it does get stronger the further we go down. It's a safe bet that we're going the correct way," Spinister offers. "Should we head on down?"

Finally having his balance back, Krok gently brushes off Crankcase's hand. "Suppose we should. Keep your senses about yourselves. Pharma suggested that there could be some traps waiting for us."

"Traps of the booby variety are pretty likely," Deadlock agrees in his own way. Smoothly, he slides out one of his pistols and starts down the hallway. "So let's say we find the doohicky that swapped our Krok with you. Think any of us know how to operate it?"

"Misfire suggested that we should contact Overlord," Krok points out, starting to follow the red-plated warrior.

Crankcase follows Deadlock's example, taking out a shotgun in preparation. "Maybe I could have a look! Could be Brainstorm has some notes we could consult with, too."

"Think you can manage?" Krok wonders.

Crankcase forms a troubled smile. "Not totally sure. I mean, y'can ask me to fix up anything from an engine to guns to computers. But devices that gotta deal with apparently breakin' through time and space? Not exactly my specialty. But I'm gonna do my best for ya, Krok. I promise."

In return, Krok gives her a confident look. "I don't doubt that in the slightest, Crankcase. Suppose it doesn't matter what kind of universe I'm in -- you've always had my back."

While his own Crankcase would just grunt and look mildly less disgruntled, she instead forms a warm smile, looking sincerely touched. It's almost like words like that haven't been spoken much to her. "Thanks. I won't let you down. Promise."

They continue their cautious trek down the hall. It seems ridiculously long, but Krok can definitely see a light at the end of it. Soon, they'll reach the lab, and whatever happens afterward Krok isn't sure what to expect. He's determined to make it back to where he belongs, but whether or not that's plausible? He has no idea. He's not a scientist. There's no way for him to determine that.

They can give it their all, though. Something has to turn out.

A single click sound is in the air and immediately after Krok hears Deadlock utter, "Whoopsy."

Krok looks down and sees that the red-plated warrior ended up stepping on some kind of switch. He can hear gears turning, but he isn't sure what to expect. Without any warning, Deadlock is grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him forward just as parts of the walls slide open, gunfire unleashing into the narrow hall. Pharma is sticking close behind the both of them, but it does end up separating three of them from Spinister and Crankcase, who hardly have any cover to hide behind.

Not the best situation to be in. Krok has warmed up a little to Deadlock's presence, but he'd feel better keeping the team together.

"Crankcase, are you and Spinister all right?" Krok asks through the radio link in his wrist.

" _Ain't hurt, but we're kinda blocked off from you if those guns keep firing! Don't seem like they're runnin' out of bullets, are they?_ " Crankcase says regretfully. 

"There should be a way to shut them off!" Pharma stands and cautiously places his soldering fingers over a wall. "I don't know where all of the engines are, but if we can get to it--"

"Through a thick wall like that?" Deadlock scoffs. "Look, doc, I have things that go KABLOOIE! But even I know using them in this tunnel is a bad idea."

" _Don't y'all wait on us! Spinister an' I can figure this one out and catch up with you,_ " Crankcase assures over the radio link.

" _Yeah, if anything, Pharma's given us a start! So see if you can find Brainstorm or something for us to work off of!_ " Spinister calls out. " _You're safe with Deadlock!_ "

Reluctantly, Krok looks up at Deadlock's face. Deadlock grins and wiggles his fingers at him in a little wave. Right, he needs to remember that Deadlock isn't some traitorous scum like he is in Krok's universe. Sighing, Krok says, "I know. Watch yourselves."

"Oh boy! Just you, Pharma and me now, on the rest of our adventure!" Deadlock struts off, heading down the hall again. "Will they make it out alive? Will Krok make it home, or is he stuck in this backwards dimension? Will Pharma ever get his hands back?! Stay tuned!"

"Stop narrating and stay focused," Krok grumbles.

"All right, Officer Funzone."

The three of them press on, cautiously determining that the best thing to do is making sure that the closer they get to the light, the slower their pace. Fortunately, despite what an apparent fool Deadlock seems to be, he does know how to become quiet when it's appropriate; he presses his back against the wall of the hallway and Krok does the same. Both of them peer into the laboratory with Pharma positioning himself to somehow manage duck behind both of them.

It's an organized disaster, from the looks of it. The interior of the lab-basement hybrid is primarily caked with rust and grime, and the desks covered with equipment also have various empty cylinders; the only remains of what was in them seems to imply energon with the stains that they've left. The machinery that's been set up seem to differentiate from each other: anywhere from computers to convoluted devices to a synthetic energon dispensor is set up in the small area.

Hunched over one of the computers is clearly an Autobot, one that turns into a jet from the looks of it. Most of his plating is white with black accents, and from behind it seems like he's wearing some kind of harness on his head with several magnifying glasses attached to it.

"I knew you were here 35 minutes ago," the Autobot says, not even turning around. 

A gun is pressed up against the back of Krok's head, and he lets out a disappointed hiss. Glancing just out of the corner of his optics, he can see that Deadlock is in the same position, albeit he looks more mildly annoyed than anything else proportionate to the situation.

Once Pharma realizes what's going on, it's too late; the Autobot doctor is violently kicked in the back, sending him sprawling to the floor in front of them. He groans and starts to push himself up by the elbows, but he's far too slow to properly assist.

"Don't get up, Pharma. Perceptor, bring them in here."

After a sharp nudge against his head, Krok growls and reluctantly obeys, stepping further into the lab with Deadlock at his side. As they come closer, the Autobot leaned over the computer finally stands up and turns around to face them. He stands with a hunch in his back, and the way his optics are burning brightly almost implicates that he's wired on something. His face is memorable, with the way his jaw and mouth are connected with two thick cables.

As he saunters in close, he takes his time, unafraid. First Aid was giddy but patient; this Autobot seems to take a more analytical approach as he peers at Krok. Unconcerned by Pharma, he steps over the struggling form on the floor, ignoring him for now in favor of the Decepticons in his presence. His head tilts left, cocked and curious.

Based upon what little Krok knows about him in his own universe, he feels it's safe to assume that this is Brainstorm.

"Let me see," Brainstorm says, invading Krok's personal space, leaning in incredibly close. The Decepticon's tempted to punch him, but considering his unfortunate position, he steels himself to stay still as Brainstorm observes him. Clicking down a few of the monocles set up on his strange harness, Brainstorm is able to observe him closely. "Yes, yes. Okay, the plating is different, the color, even the frame is a little different, but what else? I'm getting a strange reading off of you. I wonder if it's just like before..."

Scrambling away just for a moment, Brainstorm shoves tools off of one of his desks and looks around for a moment before grabbing some kind of scanner. Bringing it up far to close to Krok's face, the Autobot scientist continues to investigate curiously. "The particles! Yes, yes, _yes_ , I knew it. But something is missing. Something... Where is it? Your ember's gone."

"It's a spark," Krok says, scowling.

"A spark? A spark of life. That... yes, that makes sense." Brainstorm rubs his chin in thought. "So it's not gone. I wonder what it looks like. I can only imagine what else is different."

"You aren't surprised to see us. You knew we were here," Krok notes outloud, trying to think of a way out of this. At his side, Deadlock just keeps his hands up and looks bored with the situation. Very unhelpful.

A bark of a laugh leaves Brainstorm's vocalizer. "Why would I be? In the grand scheme of things, you were going to end up here one way or another. You'd find out, or you'd be taken here, or something. That's how it'll go. I knew-- no, listen, look at me. I knew you would end up in my lab. I knew you, specifically you, would be here, Krok. You're, ah, still called Krok, right?"

"What-- yes." What's that supposed to mean?

Brainstorm sets the scanner aside. He pauses as he sees Pharma start to get onto his knees finally, then slams his foot down casually onto the Autobot medic's back, pinning him down. "Let me think. What were you told? Who told you? I can only imagine-- I'm not a detective, but there are strings you could have, ah, followed. Yes, followed."

The silence in the air doesn't seem to satisfy Brainstorm. After two minutes of waiting, he eventually sounds exasperated as he says, "Perceptor, shoot Krok's foot."

"Roger," is all Perceptor says. 

The next second happens so quickly, so immediate that Krok almost doesn't feel anything right off. All he hears is a crack of a gun's shot ringing in his sensors. His body catches up and he realizes the order is carried out properly: his foot has been shot, fuel bleeding into a small puddle on the floor.

Krok hisses and collapses to a knee, holding his hands vaguely over his injury. Touching it seems like a bad idea and he's had worse, but it still hurts.

"That looks like it sucks," Deadlock says, almost sounding empathetic.

"Now I want to know how you ended up here," Brainstorm tells Krok. "I'm not going to kill you, but I don't need your limbs. Not really. So I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me."

Krok clutches a hand into a fist. He can manage the pain. It seems easier to take it onto himself than when he had to witness Fulcrum's torture before. Seeing his team -- of his own universe or not -- in pain is always going to be difficult. For a soldier, he supposes he has too much empathy, but it's hard to turn a cold shoulder towards those on his unit.

So he says nothing.

"If that's how you want to do this." Brainstorm snaps his fingers impatiently at his partner. "Aim for Pharma's left wing. He won't be flying anytime soon."

"Roger," Perceptor says again, adjusting his aim.

"No! No, don't! I already lost my hands, don't take _that_ from me!" Pharma pleads.

Normally, it'd be easy to keep himself distant and cold from Autobots, but Krok's observed Pharma's behavior. Pharma didn't have any real reason to be helpful when Fulcrum was being tortured before, and he could have quickly groveled before Brainstorm and begged for forgiveness if he was eager to switch sides again.

But it's not that simple. Oh, it can never be that simple.

"Wait," Krok growls out, irritated with himself and the pity he has for Pharma. "Fine. We went to the Circle of Light. We talked to Dai Atlas."

"Of course. Well, typical of the Scavengers to use them for information, but amusing in retrospect. Right, right. So you paid your way for information, and found your way here. What did he tell you? Hm?"

"Axe told us that the other Krok was shot. That it was by another Decepticon, but you made the gun to wipe him from existence. Instead, I'm under the impression it brought me here."

"Yes. Yes, mostly true." A quiet laugh emits and Brainstorm crouches down in front of Krok. "Optimus Prime came to me one day. Told me to find a way to get rid of you-- him. The other... you know who I mean. We've tried several assassination attempts before, you see. Krok and the rest of his Scavengers, resilient as ever, difficult to properly kill. I thought about it, I mean I... I really thought about it. It'd be easy enough to make any gun. But I don't care about crafting weapons so much as I care about my theories. So I thought about melding the two."

Suddenly, Brainstorm holds up both of his index fingers. "My theory. Right, this. My theory is that we live on dimensional planes. Layers of existence. That the number is countless. So, if I was going to remove Krok, I had to unravel his layer of existence. But something did go wrong. Something I couldn't predict. I haven't invented a way to see into the future yet, after all, but this! Oh, this was marvelous. This went so much better than I expected. When Krok was shot, it did unravel his existence, but he was automatically swapped with you for some reason. I thought to myself that maybe this was automatic, that to remove your matter, it needed an equivalent exchange, if you will. But that's not it. Something happened on your side, too!"

Shockwave's lab. Maybe something triggered in the lab? Based on Overlord's story, that seems plausible. Krok considers. "I'm not sure."

"I didn't think you would be, but your very existence proves my theories. Nobody..." Brainstorm's hands shake, as he shows his excitement and passion. "Nobody would believe me, or didn't care. But now I know for a fact! I can perfect this, I can find a way for interdimensional travel to really exist. I just need to make adjustments. Technically, I've achieved Optimus Prime's orders, and my own goals. It's worked out wonderfully. And I can study you!"

"Hey, you know, before you start all of that, can I say something?" Deadlock asks, holding his hand up as if he's a student at a university.

"Now is hardly the time for your antics," Brainstorm says flatly.

"Yeah, okay, but: SOMETHING!" Moving too quickly for the Autobots to react, Deadlock is reaching over his shoulder and grabbing onto Perceptor's wrist in order to throw him at Brainstorm. The scientist manages to duck out of the way in time, but it causes him to stumble off of Pharma while Perceptor crashes into a table.

Seeing his opportunity, Pharma switches on his chainsaw, grunting as he swings it at Brainstorm's feet; it's a clumsy motion, but he manages to saw right through Brainstorm's left ankle, causing the scientist to cry out and topple over. Taking advantage of Pharma's assistance, Krok launches himself over to tackle Brainstorm and struggle to try to pin him to the floor. He glances over his shoulder, watching as Perceptor picks himself back up in time to face off with Deadlock, the pair of them trying to take shots at each other. So far, nothing fatal for either of them.

"Pharma, try to reach out to Spinister and the others! I'm trusting you on this!" Krok orders the doctor.

"I--" Pharma freezes up for a moment, then he nods. "I'll try! I'll be back!"

The Autobot turns and leaves down the hallway. Hopefully, either Spinister or Crankcase are finding a way through, or at least Pharma will be able to reach somebody. It's a gamble putting his trust into the Autobot, but so far Pharma has shown less moral ambiguity over time. 

Hopefully Krok isn't wrong about him.

" _Hrrk!_ " Krok reaches down and clutches his side, peering down to see that Brainstorm had managed to stab him with what looks like a laser scalpel.

"I said I didn't need all of you!" Brainstorm reminds, shoving him off. "Perceptor?! Where are you?"

"Roger!" Perceptor calls back.

Brainstorm pulls his scalpel free and mutters to himself, "I really wish he'd say more than one thing sometimes. There's really no point in the both of you fighting this out! What are you even doing?!"

Grunting, Krok pushes himself up and manages to deliver a vicious backhand despite his pained and bleeding foot. He hobbles forward and glares down at Brainstorm. From the force of the strike, the Autobot's cable had popped free and now his jaw hangs awkwardly, keeping him from talking any further.

Well. That's a way of shutting him up.

Brainstorm sputters out garbled words and static, then hisses angrily before he grabs onto the foot of one his chairs, swinging it up into Krok's face, smashing into his head. It forces Krok to stumble and clutch his head while he feels the effects of being stunned. That, and one of his optics is now cracked painfully.

"P--rrssstor!" Brainstorm growls out, strugling with his dislodged jaw.

"Roger?" Even Perceptor sounds confused by it while still locked in his gunfire with Deadlock.

Bursting into the room is the familiar rotorary engine of Spinister's helicopter mode. Krok shakes his head as he watches the surgeon transform into his robot mode in midair, pistol out. While still going down to land on his feet, he carefully aims before firing once, shooting Perceptor in the throat and causing him to collapse onto the floor. Effective but non-fatal.

"Fashionably late!" Deadlock commends. "So, that just leaves the Brain now, doesn't it?"

Brainstorm peers around, as if trying to weigh in his optics. His optics focus on who's just arriving now. Coming in after Spinister are both Crankcase and Pharma, although the Autobot is walking with Crankcase's help. Both the soldering fingers and the chainsaw arm are missing as if torn off. 

"Pharma?" Krok notices, frowning.

"We couldn't get in," Crankcase confesses. "We got the guns off after Pharma's advice, but then we got blocked off by a thick door. Even tried t'see if there was a different way 'round, but Brainstorm only has one way here so... Pharma cut in much as he could to help us through, but his arms got caught in the mess."

"It's no real loss," Pharma mutters. "Is it over?"

"Oh, I'm thinkin' so," Deadlock says, meandering over to look over Brainstorm. "Mr. Rogers is out cold and you're looking a little out numbered there."

Clenching his hands, Brainstorm throws himself over a table. Spinister moves to react, but as soon as the Autobot scientist's hand slams onto a button, an alarm blares through the lab. Aside from the noise, it doesn't seem to mean anything until pieces of machinery start to spark and burst into flames.

"Zounds, now I just feel like a jerk for giving high expectations," Deadlock says, shrugging overly sheepishly.

Brainstorm offers a crooked grin despite his jaw, then transforms into a jet to leave the lab. While Spinister takes a few steps forward to follow, he hesitates, "Krok?! Should I follow? My scanner is really picking up heavy duty saganical particles! That must mean the device is here! The one used on our captain!"

That makes him curse to himself for a moment. Krok hates how these Autobots get away! But he can't chance giving up his way on getting home, not while the entire lab is starting to go up in flames!

"Let him go. Focus on finding the device!" Krok orders. "Crankcase, get Pharma out of here! Deadlock, Spinister -- look for the device!"

"Yes sir!" Crankcase helps Pharma move. "C'mon, doc! We're out of here!"

"Man, I don't even know what it's supposed to look like!" Spinister mutters as they start sorting through the devices left in the lab. "And I can't narrow it down. All of his stuff's covered in particles!"

"Well, I'm thinking big and bulky with a long range shot," Deadlock offers. "I mean, it was used as a gun, right?"

"That... is actually a reall good point!" Spinister tosses a few items out of the way. "So where do you think it is?!"

With the way the lab is being burned, it's hard to make a rational choice. Krok limps his way over to a large cabinet. The edges are on flames, but it's sturdy enough that he can pull the door open.

Only to be faced with a very dead body. One that's a Decepticon that he can determine due to the badge, but the badge color is a distinctive purple. The corpse is full of holes, clear that the Decepticon was shot to death.

Could this have been Spanner?

"Ah-ha! Here we are!" Hearing Deadlock's voice, Krok turns to see him hold up a large gun with a distinctive scope. Several tubes are running through it, making it look like less of a weapon and more like some strange science experiment. "Well, that's what I'd say if I knew for sure it was the thingy, but I'm gonna guess this is probably it."

Pieces of the ceiling start to collapse and Spinister jumps out of the way with a hysterical shriek. "Uh! Seems like a good chance? Let me check!" He rushes over and pops the side open, squinting as he scans the interior. "I'm gonna be honest, I'm not 100% sure, but based on the readings it seems like a safe bet." 

"We don't have time to figure it out here. Move out!" Krok orders.

Nodding in agreement, Spinister scoops up Perceptor and slings the unconscious Autobot over one shoulder. "No problem! Apologies ahead of time, Krok sir!" Spinister picks up Krok under his other arm before they start their escape with Deadlock following behind, carrying what Krok desperately hopes to be the device that will send him home.

Krok watches as they narrowly avoiding the burning collapse of the lab, flames spewing forth. 

He hopes that Deadlock is right about his guess.

 

-=-=-

 

As soon as they emerge from the tunnel and back out top, Krok feels some unusual relief wash over him as soon as they stumble away from what had once been the Iacon library. Smoke rises up from under its bowels, where Brainstorm made his home and lab. Now? Now there's nothing left.

Just the gun that rests in Deadlock's arms.

Approaching them are familiar faces; some Krok knows well, others he's still adjusting to be a source of trust. Either way, he's glad to see that neither Misfire nor Fulcrum are dead. While the sniper has a few knicks and gashes in his plating, Fulcrum seems to proudly sport bite marks and scorches from his battle with Grimlock. Standing them with them is Crankcase, who's helping Pharma sit down and rest from his injuries.

While Krok recognizes Tarn, Vos, and Tesarus, the ship behind them looks vaguely like the _Peaceful Tyranny_ but much less daunting to look over. Exiting the ship with them is Overlord.

After gently setting Krok down and tossing Perceptor aside, Spinister immediately kneels down to start repairs on his foot. Krok rests a hand on his shoulder. "None of that right now. I can deal with a gunshot for awhile, but you have some other patients to worry about."

Spinister hesitates, then smiles with his optics and nods. "If you're totally sure, Krok. Don't push yourself?"

"We'll see," Krok muses.

As Spinister leaves and goes to check on Pharma's arms, Misfire approaches while Fulcrum stubbornly limps over. He politely salutes Krok.

"At ease," Krok says to him gruffly. "I take it you asked for Tarn and the others?"

"It seemed like a wise idea. I didn't hear anything from you in awhile and I wasn't sure how dire our situation would have turned out." Misfire hesitates, then adds, "Our... captain would have seriously reprimanded me for such a decision but--"

"You made your choice. It was a smart one. I think we need the help," Krok agrees. "Deadlock, give the device to Overlord. We'll see if it's the right one."

"Man, for guy who sure isn't our boss, you boss like a boss," Deadlock remarks, but doesn't refuse as he takes the gun over to Overlord.

Krok shrugs to himself. "Force of habit, I suppose. Are you two all right?"

"Pit! Never felt better. I'm just sorry Grimlock got away," Fulcrum answers him with a laugh.

"Atomizer made his retreat when he saw Brainstorm taking off," Misfire explains. "So you were able to find it? The device that affected you and our captain?"

"I'm not sure," Krok says honestly. "We made a best guess. So... it may or may not be the right one. And if it isn't..."

"And if it isn't!" Deadlock interjects as he returns from handing the gun off. "C'mon, think about it. Even if it isn't or if it's broken or doesn't work, would it be the worst thing ever being stuck here? I mean, I dunno about the rest of you, but I'm sure okay with the lack of _get down and gimme twenty!_ "

Fulcrum snorts. "Not all of us are lazy dolts like you." He gently elbows Deadlock in the side.

"I would rather get our captain back, but realistically, if you were stuck here, you would not be abandoned," Misfire informs Krok quietly.

"Suppose you aren't all bad, darlin', but I'd be happier to get ours back," Fulcrum offers, shrugging and looking away from everyone else.

Krok holds up his hands. "I appreciate it," he says honestly. "I know I've had some reservations about all of you in some way. But I trust you all. Even people I didn't think I could." Krok glances at Deadlock. "Whatever First Aid and Axe had to say about there being a traitor, they must have been wrong or said it to try to set us apart. Your Krok has a solid team. But I have my own I have to get back to. They need me, and you need yours. That's what we need. But on the chance I am stuck here, I'm in good hands. For what it's worth."

"Aw gosh, Krok!" Before he can react, Krok finds himself getting stuck into a tight embrace from Spinister. _Not_ something he expected. "That spark of yours really must have a lot of care and softness and--"

"Put me down," Krok growls.

"Okay, so maybe not softness." Spinister gently puts him down.

"How's Pharma?" Krok asks.

"Well, I stopped the fuel leak and I had a talk with Tarn. We're going to look into replacing his hands. Tarn offered to take him in and help him out. I think Pharma might actually go with him to the DJD clinic!" Spinister kneels down and finally starts tending to Krok's foot. "How great is that? I think it's a good thing for him!"

Oddly enough, Krok finds himself agreeing. For someone who had been stuck under First Aid's thumb, it seems like a good resolution if Tarn feels it's the right choice. It's a strange thing to think about, but it seems right.

Krok lifts his head and looks towards Overlord as he hears the large Decepticon approach.

"Overlord? What are the results?" Misfire asks.

"It seems like Deadlock made the right choice. It's the correct device," Overlord confirms with a small smile. "It seems to be a very intuitive piece of equipment. Aim and fire. Only, there's one concern."

Krok feels his spark sink a little. "What is it?"

"That there's only one shot we can make," Overlord says. "This gun wasn't designed for multiple uses. If it's going to be fired, it'll overload and... well, that's it. That, and I'm not sure I can guarantee it'll take you to where you need to be, Krok. Is that a chance you want to take?"

"Yes," Krok says immediately. "I know where I need to be. If it means we can set everything right, then it's worth the chance. Just... give me a minute. I should say something to everyone."

Overlord's expression is warm and knowing. He places a hand to Krok's shoulder. "I understand. Take your time saying good-bye to everyone before the next step."

That makes Krok feel a little awkward, but he nods in return. Overlord isn't wrong. "Sure. Thank you."

When the hand is removed, Krok turns his head towards Misfire. He offers his hand out. "I meant what I said before. About you being second-in-command. Trust your instincts more, got it?"

"Captain," Misfire addresses him, his voice a bit more gentle than usual as he takes Krok's hand. "I will improve myself. Take care."

"You too." Krok nods and looks at Fulcrum.

"I don't really do good-byes," Fulcrum grumbles.

"I didn't even get a chance to thank you for putting your life on the line for me." Krok folds his arms.

In response, Fulcrum shrugs. "Just know I'd do it again. So watch your aft, darlin'."

"Look, I thought I'd say this _ever_ , but try to listen to Misfire more," Krok tells him. "Thank you for everything."

Spinister stands up, dusting off his hands. "There we go! Patch job done. Just in time to say farewell!"

Krok places his hand on Spinister's arm. "It is. Thank you for stepping up to Dai Atlas's duel and helping me."

"Well, sure! I mean, you act really different, but I know your ember-- uh, spark! Your spark's in the right place." Spinister chuckles. "Good-bye, Krok. I'll remember you."

Nodding to the surgeon, Krok turns towards Crankcase, whose optics are sparking flits of light as she struggles with herself for a moment. "I'm so sorry," Crankcase says in a hiccup. "I'm just-- I'm real bad at this kinda thing. Can I just say _see you later_? I hate seein' people off, 'specially if I'm never gonna see them again."

"Sure." Krok huffs wryly, gently patting her shoulder. "Thank you for rescuing me at Garrus-2."

"You're welcome. A-and you be safe! I'll be so cross if I find out you end up hurt somewhere an' there ain't nothin' we can do." Crankcase sniffs and rubs her optics, trying to stifle the sparks.

"Deadlock?" Krok looks to him next. "This is the strangest part for me. Where I'm from, you're an infamous traitor. You turned your back on the entire military. I didn't know that I could trust you. I'm glad to know that I was wrong."

"Eh, well." Deadlock thumps his own chest. "That's me! Exceeding expectations. Or something. Whatever, you know what I mean. And hey, like I said, if you end up stuck here, I won't be upset about it."

"That's quite the sentiment," Krok says, bemused.

"Krok?" Hearing his name, the historian turns to face Pharma with Tarn standing behind him. The Autobot looks down at his own lack of hands helplessly, then glances up. "I think... I think I'm going to be okay. That's thanks to you. So, please be safe. Wherever it is you're going."

For a moment, Krok isn't sure what to say. Eventually, he nods. "Tarn will take good care of you. You can trust him."

Pharma smiles a little and nods. Tarn places a hand lightly onto Pharma's shoulder and says, "I will do everything I can to keep him safe and get him the help he needs. Be well, Krok!"

"This is definitely strange to say, but... you too, Tarn."

That's it, then. That's everyone. Krok looks around, making sure. In a way, he is a bit sad to know that he'll never see them again, but he's looking forward to finally being back where he belongs. He misses his own crew and their antics and he knows they need him. He knows he needs them, too.

It must be the same for their Krok.

He turns and calls out, "Overlord."

The enormous scientist approaches and levels the gun to the side. "All right. Safe journey, Krok," Overlord says to him.

"Just a second." Krok pauses, then says, "I found Spanner's body in the basement. I think you were right about him. You were right about everything. I thought you should know."

That brings a pause before Overlord smiles softly. "I appreciate it. Are you ready?"

"I think so." Krok nods. "Yeah. Let's do this."

The Scavengers give him space, backing away and making sure that he has room and that no stray bouts of energy includes them. Krok stands, prepared as he can be as Overlord levels the gun at him. 

The trigger is pulled and a blast of energy reaches out, striking Krok. It envelopes him, sending surges of wild electricity over him. It's almost too much to stand, and he feels the edges of darkness start to take him before he feels himself being ripped away.

 

-=-=-

 

"Is he okay? Is he alive?"

"Quit crowding him! Back it off and let Spinister work."

"If he's dead, dibs on his room!"

"Misfire!"

"What, too soon?"

The familiar voices pull him awake. Optics come online, flickering a moment. He still aches, but he's awake and aware, peering up at faces he knows well. The colors are right, and so are the expressions. There's Crankcase looking annoyed, snapping at everyone else, and the gaping head wound marring his plating. Misfire giving a playful and mischevous smile while Fulcrum frets, wringing his hands. Spinister scratches his head, peering down at Krok as the war historian comes back online.

"You don't look dead," Spinister helpfully concludes.

"Thank you," Krok murmurs.

He takes a moment to look himself over. While it'd be easy enough to mark off the whole thing as a horrible, stupid, and strange dream, Krok spots his recent foot injury. It's already been welded, but the scarring is there. That, and his face feels too repaired in comparison to before.

So, everything he experienced. It really happened.

Krok exhales, feeling exhausted as he peers up at the ceiling of Shockwave's lab. "Someone. Give me a report on what I missed." He holds up a hand as Misfire's mouth opens. "Someone else. No offense."

"Well." Fulcrum rubs the back of his neck. "The device powered on somehow and activated. I still don't entirely understand what happened, but when it did, you were different. Really different."

"Your badge was red and your coloring was stupid," Spinister interjects.

"And you were giving us drills and asking us why our ship was a scrap pile." Crankcase snorts. "Seemed like amnesia and a color palette switch, but we were able to put two and two together."

"So I asked Spinister if he could put the other Krok out for awhile so Crankcase and I could work on getting you back," Fulcrum explains.

"I punched him really hard!" Spinister assures.

Usually, Krok would probably just gently facepalm, but there's honestly a part of him that's just glad to have his ridiculous little group back. So, he lets out a soft snort, almost amused.

"It took awhile to work out, so we did some more reading in the meanwhile to figure it out. When we did power it on finally, you two just kind of swapped places. The whole thing was unusual." Fulcrum shrugs. "So, were we right? You ended up in another dimension?"

Krok pauses, then turns his head away a little. While he's grateful to be back where he belongs, he can't help but feel like he's just abandoned the other crew in that other dimension. It's bittersweet, really. He regrets not being able to do more, but realistically, there's nothing they can really do about it. Krok will actually miss them, but for right now he's happy to be back with his own team.

"You're right." Krok confirms. "I'm not up for talking about it right now, though. Later, I promise."

"What, you don't want to share all of your crazy adventures in a weird dimension without us?" Misfire gives a dramatic sigh. "Well, whatever. I'm just glad you're you now. That other Krok liked making us work like soldiers. How crazy's that?"

"Are you saying I don't work you hard enough?" Krok asks flatly.

Misfire grins sheepishly. "Oh, not at all. Didn't mean to imply a thing!"

"In any case." Krok grunts as he sits up, and Crankcase's hand rests on his shoulder to help steady him. "I'm about ready to get the hell out of here. I suspect the rest of you feel the same."

"Pretty much," Crankcase confirms, grumbling. "No more Shockwave labs."

"No more Shockwave labs," Krok agrees tiredly.

 

-=-=-

 

**Primax -408.24 Epsilon  
Outside of Brainstorm's Lab**

 

The aftermath of everything ended up turning out not the way Deadlock had entirely hoped. Unfortunately, shooting the rifle did cause Krok to come back in all of his uptight coldness, just like Overlord said. It's not what Brainstorm said would happen; it _was_ supposed to be a one shot kind of deal, but it could be worse. So for now, Brainstorm has escaped, Grimlock's rampaging somewhere, Atomizer's probably not dead, and the rest of the Scavengers are alive. Various states of damaged, but alive.

"We're in a sorry state and you lot think it worked out," Krok says sternly. "Look at the lot of you. We're a mess and Crankcase says the S.S.S.A. is broken down! Misfire, you had the _nerve_ to call in the DJD _and_ Overlord? You mean to tell me this team couldn't handle everything on its own so we needed some fresh snuggles from Tarn? The best you give me is Perceptor in cuffs and that Tarn's coddling Pharma! We have a lot to make up for. Scavengers, march back to base. After repairs, get to work!"

There's no argument. That's either the best or the worst thing. What everyone wears are looks of loyalty or admiration or both despite the harsh words. Slowly they turn to march off and follow Krok again. Most of the time, Misfire's face is subtle, but Deadlock's watched him long enough to know his careful looks and the faintest twitch on his lips, something not quite a smile. Maybe of relief to have someone else in command again, or maybe he's just glad to have Krok back and admires him so, so much. Either reason is stupid. 

Fulcrum was already recovering from saving that other Krok, but now he sports marks of Dinobot teeth and parts of his plating has been somewhat burnt or melted from the flames, but it's not as if he cares. The look he wears is proud, grinning, and Deadlock hates how he looks when Fulcrum glances at Krok. Like there's nothing better. He shrugs off his wounds and goes on. Behind him silently fretting behind forced laughter is Spinister, acting like a fool and making sure that no one is falling apart and he pretends he isn't either. With more sincere giggles, Crankcase trails at his side, honest and glad that everyone is together again as she waves farewell to Tarn and the others.

Leading in front, Krok goes. The way he presents himself is stiff and unyielding. Despite his lack of height, he stands and carries himself like a Decepticon that's fifty feet tall. He doesn't crumble, he doesn't get shaken. Even this whole thing is just an irritating setback for him. He looks ahead to the horizon with cold blue optics and fists clenched in determination.

There's not much of a choice but to go with it. Even if it sickens him a little.

Deadlock whistles innocently as he jogs to catch up and march alongside the other Decepticons, giving a playful shove at Fulcrum's shoulder who swats him in return with the same intent. Things go back to the way they were.

It isn't the worst thing ever. The next time Prime wants Deadlock to try to do a little more backstabbing, it just means maybe less stupid science involved. Or something. He'll deal with this for the time being until another opportunity.


End file.
